The Ice Princess
by Cold Drake Queen
Summary: SLASH Seifer x Squall 'The Princess Bride' If you have read the book or seen the movie you know what happens. For those who don't, welcome to the world of The Princess Bride Final Fantasy Style.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not in any way own anything you are about to read. Kind of sucks but it is true. I'll try and throw in a lot of my junk in there so that it's not total theft.

Warnings: Well I have no idea what I'll throw in, but please just keep in mind I am yaoi fan girl and I will throw in as much as I can when I can. So it may get a little adult. That means I could go from the standard kisses of the story to a full out grind and bump. Besides this has got to be my favourite pairing. How could I not have them get freaky? Also I am going to have language in there sometimes. I mean how could you not swear like a sailor when a sword is driven through you?

Anyway, onto the story.

----o----o----o----o----o----

A dark hair beauty took aim with his triple barrelled gun and shot the sniper from atop the building. Quickly dodging the bullets that rained down on him from elsewhere, the red cloak on his back fluttering in the wind as he moved.

He reloaded then sprinted for the next arch and the next piece of shelter. All the while dodging the bullets of the Tsviet snipers.

His blood red eyes scanned the rooftops once, twice and thrice looking for his next target. He took aim and paused while coughing was heard. Holding completely still as another round of coughing was heard. He took aim once again he pulled the trigger downing the man in his sights with a head shot. He turned on his heal and headed for the next piece of shelter.

But in mid stride his world went dark and words floated in mid air.

A young boy coughed into his right hand while the other held a controller, the strength of the coughing shaking the bed in which he lay. His silver hair falling over his face as another was a coughing took him.

"Riku, how are you feeling?" His mother asked as she came into the room.

"Better." He replied as her red eyes studied her son.

"Guess what?" Her hands came up to place a pair of dark sunglasses into her silver hair. "Your grandfather is here."

"Can you tell him I am sick?"

"That is why he is here."

Riku groaned and glared at his mom. "He's going to pinch my cheek and call me cute."

"I'm sure he won't this time."

Riku just finished as his grandfather swept into the room, his black coat billowing out behind him. He carried under his arm a package wrapped in brown paper. "How is my cute little boy?" He said as he pinched Riku's cheek. "Paine, haven't you been feeding this boy? He is all skin and bones."

"Father." She stated firmly.

"General Father if you please."

Paine looked from one face to the other. "I'll just leave you to it then. Oh, and Sephiroth …"

"General Sephiroth."

"Whatever. Don't spoil him too much, he is sick."

"Yes mam!" He saluted as she left the room.

"And no chocolate!" She yelled back at them. They both looked at each other and groaned.

"Oh I brought you something." Sephiroth said as he sat on the bed.

Riku squirmed and looked joyful as the package was handed to him. "What is it? Is it a new game?"

"Nope, just open it."

Riku tares into the package the brown paper flying everywhere.

"A book?"

"Yep. When I was just a young boy we didn't have TV and these things were all the rage. Besides this book is special. My dad would read this to me when I was sick. And today I am going to read it to you."

"Is it about sports?" Riku looked at his grandfather with hope in his eyes.

"Are you kidding? Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Revenge. Giants. Monsters. Chases. Escapes. True love. Miracles." Sephiroth rose from the bed to wave around his arm as if wielding a very large sword.

"It doesn't sound too bad. I'll try and stay awake." Riku turned to fluff his pillow, while Sephiroth sat back down on the bed.

"Oh. Well, thank you very much. It's very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming. All right. Let's see. Chapter one."


	2. Chapter 1

The one thing that people must know is in this world beauty only comes around once and a while, and in the year our fair Squall was born there was but one who could claim the title.

And of course she fell to jealousy and was given candy until she was a whale. I mean this chick was huge! Actually I have seen whales that would be called petit standing next to her. Shit she used a whole damn field of cotton for her dresses.

And well the one who made her fat, the jealous wife, well she watched her mother walk away with her husband. God can you ever imagine the hurt that poor girl felt? She must have been one ugly bitch for her husband to leave her for her old mother. I mean back then they didn't have kids straight out of finishing school. They waited until you could see death over that hill and were falling down the other side of the hill to meet him.

Anyway when our Squall was sixteen he wasn't all that much to look at. I mean he lived on a farm with his parents. Ugly things they were. How they sired such a person like Squall I have no idea.

I mean his father was small, smaller then you or I. I would almost be safe to say that a donkey looked big with this man on it's back. And he was kind of hunched over from years and years of work. His skin was dark and wrinkly.

Not the nicest sight to behold. I mean I went visiting there once to buy some milk. And to myself I was thinking that the milk better taste much better then the view on the farm was.

And his wife, the mother of Squall, well lets just say they were a matching set. I almost lost my cookies when she took out her teeth to take something out that was stuck between them.

Anyways back to our fair Squall. At this time he really didn't take care of himself. He was forever riding his horse 'Horse'. And well when he did bathe once in a blue moon he neglected those parts that our mothers harp at us about. 'Wash behind your ears.' They say. Well as far as I know nobody to this point has ever seen the back of his ears.

Oh he loved to ride. It was the only thing he did in his free time. Oh well I guess not all his free time. You see there was this farm boy that worked for his parents. 'Farm boy' was what he called the poor lad. Well you see he liked to boss 'Farm Boy' around. And for every command all the boy replied was 'As you wish.'

"Farm Boy, saddle Horse for me"

"As you wish."

"Farm Boy, fetch me that pitcher."

"As you wish."

"Farm Boy, rub my tired feet."

"As you wish."

"Farm Boy, give it to me hard. I want to scream your name."

"As you wish."

Ok, ok, I exaggerated that last bit. He wasn't really the 'in love' type at this point. He really hadn't seen the looks he was receiving.

He would take his parents milk into town and the whole town would watch his passing. I applaud them for seeing the beauty below all that grime. But then again I grew up in a small town. Everybody is butt ugly and when you get something worth your time everybody is lined up. And well it wasn't long before every man and woman was nearly falling over himself or herself in either love or jealousy. I mean before Squall the local beauty was the miller's wife. And she had this mole.

I saw her once and I just had to stare. And some people told me later that I was chanting molie at her until she ran away in tears.

Anyway there was a day not long after he grew tired of all the compliments and good deeds that something grand happened to his small village.

The only Countess in the land was hunting in the woods near the farm. And in passing they stopped by the farm.

"I want to raise milk cows and I hear yours are the best in the land." She told Squall's father. "Could you help me out by giving me some advice?"

And well being the small town redneck that he was he stuttered and the Countess soon grew tired of trying to talk to Squall's father. So she turned to Squall's mother.

"Please tell me what your secret is to your cows."

And well the poor woman was stuttering more then her husband was.

"As I see you are as speechless as your husband. Surely you don't live alone." The Countess poured on the charm.

"We do not." Squall's father said in a small squeaky voice.

"Then may I speak to your son?"

Squall's mother had to look sideways at the Countess, because she didn't ever remember mentioning she had a son, but she called him out all the same.

"Squall, sweetheart, we have visitors that want to know about the cows." She called back to the farmhouse.

Oh that day was one to behold. For Squall walked out of the farmhouse. He had on a white shirt that day undone to the navel and a pair of old skin-tight leather pants. His brown locks pulled back from his face. He actually wanted to go riding, but this whole business was holding back his plans.

"Bow idiot." His mother whispered to him as he neared. So he did. Not much, as he was already annoyed that he was late.

"How may I help you?" He asked the Countess.

The Countess looked over the fine specimen in from of her. Her eyes falling to the soft skin of his chest and following down to the pants he was wearing.

"I want to know the secret to your fine cows."

"I really don't look after that. 'Farm Boy' does most of the work. Should I fetch him for you?"

Squall's mother spoke up quickly. "Oh that would be unwise. He isn't dressed for such a visit."

"I have seen my share of farm hands my dear. One more would not hurt." And with this Squall turned on his heels to look for 'Farm Boy'.

He soon returned with 'Farm Boy'. He was much taller then Squall with blonde hair and the prettiest green eyes you have ever seen. He wasn't wearing a shirt and the muscles of his chest rippled as he walked. His pants we tight on him much tighter then they should have been, and they were torn in places. I mean it has got to be illegal to look that damn sexy, especially if you are just the hired help. But you know what? He didn't care. And nobody really saw him because he never had time to leave the farm.

It was then that the Countess choked on her own words. This wasn't some farm hand. This was a god come to earth.

Squall noticed the look and just brushed it off.

"They tell me you are the one who cares for the cows on this farm."

"Yes," was his only reply.

"What is it you do to make them so outstanding."

"I feed them mam."

"There must be some special way in wish you feed them. Pray tell what is your name?"

"They call me Seifer."

"Will you show me the special way that you feed your cows?"

"The barn is not very clean, you will ruin your fine dress mistress."

"I get a new one every day, there is no worry in that."

"Follow me then."

That night Squall could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the look the Countess had given 'Farm Boy'.

It was then that Squall realized something. And he spent the night thinking about it.

And come morning Squall found his self at the door to the little hovel that 'Farm Boy' lived in. He could hear sounds from inside that indicated that he was awake already.

His hand moved up to knock at the door.

When the door opened he could see a candle burning and books open on the table. But he just glanced over that and looked at him. He was perfect, prefect in every way.

"I love you, " Squall said. "I know this must be something of a surprise, since I've been nothing but an ass to you. But I have loved you for a few hours now and every second more. I thought an hour ago that I loved you but as time passed I realized I loved you more at the moment then I did the last time I asked myself if I loved you. And compared to that I loved you more in the next moment then I did then. But in ten minutes I realized that that love was too small and the love I felt at that moment was the greatest love I would feel for you. And then I realized that that love was a puddle compared to the sea of love at had for you the next. Your eyes are like that, did you know? Well they are. Where was I? Oh yes twenty minutes ago. Had a checked again it wouldn't have mattered." The sun rose behind him and he could feel the warmth on the back of his neck.

"I love you so much more now then twenty minutes ago. I love you so much more then when you opened your door. There is no room in my body for anything but you. My arms love you, my ears adore you, and my knees shake with affection. My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey. Do you want me to follow you the rest of your days? I will do that. Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl. I will shut the fuck up for you. Or I will sing for you. If you are hungry I will feed you If you want a fine wine from across the world I will fetch it for you. If you want me to learn I will learn.

"I know I can't compete with the Countess in skills or wisdom or appeal and I saw the way she looked at you. And the way you looked at her. But remember she is old. While I am seventeen, and for me there is only you. My dearest Seifer-I have never called you that before, have I?-Seifer, Seifer, Seifer, Seifer, Seifer, Seifer, Seifer,- Darling Seifer, adored Seifer, sweet perfect Seifer, whisper I have a chance to win your love." And with that he looked up into Seifer's eyes for the first time that day.

Seifer grabbed Squall by the hips and threw him against the wall where they made passionate love in front of anybody who happened to walk by. Just jokes.

Seifer closed the door in his face.

Without a word

Without a word.

----o----o----o----o----o----

GOOD LORD! I think I have used the quota for what Squall says in the entire fiction on that last rant.

Oh well, review. It's not so hard. All you have to do is click that little button and dump your brains on me. Go on, you know you wanna do it. I dare ya, I double dare ya, I double dog dare ya.


	3. Chapter 2

Squall, blinked a few times and then turned. He ran, ran like there was no tomorrow, tears filling his eyes, as silent sobs wracked his body. He could not see clearly through the blur of the tears, but he kept running. A stupid root decided that is wanted to get in his way, snagging his foot as he passed and slamming him into a nearby tree. His shoulder hurt where he made contact with the rough bark. He took a moment to curse the tree before he began to run again. The pain in his shoulder not slowing his stride in the least, it was nothing to the pain he felt in his heart.

Back to the house he fled, back to his pillow, safe behind the door of his bedroom, to a place where he could drench the world in his tears.

Not even one word. He hadn't the decency for that. He could have given a simple sorry. Would it have hurt him to give a sorry? Seifer could have even said too late and Squall would have taken that better.

Why couldn't he at least have said something?

Squall though for a moment on that. And soon he decided it was because the minute he opened his mouth it would have all been ruined. Sure he was handsome, but was he dumb? The moment Seifer exercised his tongue it would have been all over. Like a fine stained glass window with a rock through it.

"Duhhhh."

That is what he would have said. The kind of thing Seifer would come out with when he was feeling sharp. "Duhhhhh, tanks, Squall."

Squall dried his tears and began to smile. He took a deep breath, and heaved a sigh. This was just one of those quirks of growing up. You got those small lighting flashes of passion, you blinked, and they were gone. You forgave faults, found perfection, fell madly in love; then the next day the sun comes over the hills and it was all over. Just one more chink in the belt of time, one more lesson learned.

So Squall got up, changed into his night clothes, readied for bed and tried to smile again but only to break out in a fit of weeping again. Because there was a limit to how much that you could lie to yourself.

Seifer wasn't stupid.

Oh, Squall could pretend that he was. He could laugh about the way he talked. He could chide himself for his silly infatuation with an idiot. But the truth was: Seifer had a good head on his shoulders. With more then enough intelligence locked inside. And that was the reason he didn't say anything. It wasn't the lack of brainpower to say something; it was the lack of something to say.

Seifer didn't love him back and that was it.

He spent the whole day crying. They were not the strength that blinded him to the root. They were noisy and they ran hot down his face. They came steadily and they reminded him that he wasn't good enough. He was only seventeen, and if everybody crumbled at his feet it meant nothing. Because the one time it did matter, he wasn't good enough. All he really knew was how to ride. And how could he turn the head of someone who had their sights on the Countess?

It was then that he heard footsteps outside his door, then a knock. Squall dried his eyes as best he could. "Who is it?" He called out.

"Seifer"

Squall stretched out on the bed. "Seifer?" He thought aloud. "Do I know any Sei … oh, Farm Boy, it's you, how funny." Squall got up from the bed and made his way to the door where he unlocked and opened it. "I'm glad you stopped by, I've been feeling really bad over the little joke I played on you this morning. Of course you knew I wasn't for a moment serious. Or at least I thought you knew. It was when you closed the door that I thought that maybe I had played my part too well. You poor thing, you probably thought I meant what I said. But we both know it can never happen."

"I have come to say goodbye."

Squall felt like someone had just kicked him in the chest. "You are going to sleep, you mean, you've come to say good night? How thoughtful of you, Farm Boy. Showing me that you have forgiven me for this morning. I really do appreciate your thoughtfulness and-"

Seifer cut him off. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" The floor bucked under Squall's feet, and he had to hold onto the doorframe. "Now?"

"Yes"

"Because of what I said this morning?"

"Yes"

"I have scared you away then?" Squall shook his head. "Well, I guess that is done, you have made your choice. Just remember this, I won't take you back when she is done with you. I don't care if you beg."

Seifer just looked at him.

Squall hurried on. "Just because you are beautiful and perfect, it's made you conceited. You think people can't get tired of you, well you are wrong, they can, and she will. Besides you are too poor."

"I'm going to Esthar. To seek my fortune. A ship sails soon from Balamb. There is great opportunity in Esthar. I'm going to take advantage of it. I've been training myself. I have taught myself not to need sleep. I'll take a ten-hour-a-day job then I'll take another ten-hour-a-day job and I'll save every gil from both except for what I need to eat to stay strong. And when I have enough I'll buy a farm and build a house. And make a bed big enough for two."

"You're just crazy if you think she's going to be happy in some rundown farmhouse in Esthar. Not with what she spends on clothing."

"Stop talking about the Countess! As a special favour before you drive me crazy!"

Squall just looked at him.

"You don't understand anything that is going on?"

Squall just shook his head.

Seifer shook his as well. "You have never been the brightest, I guess."

"Do you love me Seifer? Is that it?"

Seifer just gapped at Squall. He couldn't believe it. "Do I love you? Hyne, if your love where a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were …"

"I don't understand that first one yet." Squall interrupted. "Let me get this straight. Are you saying my love is the size of a grain of sand and yours the other thing? Images just confuse me. Is this universe business of yours bigger then my sand? Help me, Seifer. I have the feeling we are on the edge of something so very very important."

"I have stayed all these years in my hovel because of you. I have taught myself languages because of you. I have made myself strong because I thought you would be pleased with it. I have lived my life with only the prayer that you might look my way. I have not known a moment that the sight of you has not sent my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your image did not follow me into my dreams. There has not been a morning that you did not flutter behind my eyelids. Is any of this getting through to you Squall? Or would you like me to continue?"

"Never stop."

"There has not been …"

"If you are teasing me, Seifer, I'm going to kill you."

"How could you ever dream that I would tease you?"

"Well you haven't once said that you loved me."

"That is all you need? Easy, I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I LOVE YOU! Spell it out, should I? I … L … O … V … E … Y … O … U. Want it backwards? You love I."

"You are teasing now, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little. I've been saying it so long to you. You just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy, do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that is only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never heard."

"I hear you now, and I promise you this; I will never love anyone else. Only Seifer. Until the day I die."

Seifer nodded and took a step away. "I will send for you soon. Believe me."

"Would my Seifer ever lie?"

Seifer took another step. "I am late. I must go. I hate it but I must. The ship sails soon and Balamb is far."

"I understand."

Seifer reached out his right hand.

Squall found it hard to breath.

"Good bye."

Squall managed to raise his right hand to his.

And they shook hands.

"Good bye."

Squall gave a small nod.

Seifer took a third step, but didn't turn away.

Squall watched him.

Seifer turned.

And the words were torn from Squall's lips. "Without one kiss?"

Seifer turned to look at Squall before they fell into each other's arms. And I am not kidding this time. Why would I make a joke of the best kiss this world has ever seen?

It was full of passion, full of anger, full of love, full of sadness, full of joy, full of everything that they were.

Their lips starting this war of passion, soon joined by their tongues. Their arms wrapped around the other bringing them impossibly close, but still not close enough as they desperately tried to become one.

----o----o----o----o----o----

B/N: Okay, for the record, it had been, like ten years since I have seen this movie, but this story is making it all come back to me. Oh yeah, now I remember what I meant to say…I LOVE THIS STORY. Only two chapters, but it's totally awesome!

I'm starting to wonder if I made a mistake in casting this one. I know Squall is the womanliest of the pair. But Seifer is the loud stupid one, not Squall. Squall is the smart quiet one. Oh well don't kill me for this fault.

Oh well just so everybody knows, because I have a few messages about this. Squall is still the prettier of the two. He is just kind of grubby right now. I'll clean him up next chapter I promise.

And review time. That little button, the one that taunts you in your sleep, give it a piece of your mind by clicking it. Click it hard. Give it hell.


	4. Chapter 3

"Hold it, hold it!" Riku waved his hands around in the air. "What is this? Are you trying to trick me? Where are the sports? Is this a kissing book?"

The book falling to his lap, Sephiroth looked at his grandchild, a frown forming on his lips. "Just you wait. It is coming."

"Well, when does it get good?" Riku looked like he was starting to get bored. This book wasn't what he had been promised yet.

Riku shifted on the bed wanting to get back to his game, but not wanting to disrespect his grandpa.

"Keep your shirt on. Let me read." Sephiroth raised the book and started to read again.

----o----

The first morning after Seifer left, Squall thought he was entitled to do nothing more then sit around moping and feeling sorry for his self. After all the love of his life had left. Life had no meaning, how could you face the future, et cetera, et cetera.

But after a few moments he realized that Seifer was out in the world now. Getting nearer to Balamb. What if Seifer found another person, one prettier them him while he was back at the farm wasting away? Or worse what if Seifer got to Esthar worked away as he said he would, made that bed for them and send for Squall. And when Squall got there Seifer stood in front of him and said. "I'm sending you back. The mopping has destroyed your eyes. The self-pity has taken your skin. You are ugly now. I am marrying a young Esthar girl who lives in the house next door and is always in the best condition."

Squall ran to his bedroom mirror. "Oh Seifer, " He said to his own reflection, "I must never disappoint you." And he hurried downstairs to where his parents were fighting, it seems they were always fighting. And the score was now sixteen to thirteen and it wasn't even past breakfast yet. "I need your advice." He interrupted. "What can I do to make myself look better?"

"Start by taking a bath." His father said.

"Do something with your hair while you are at it." His mother said.

"Unearth the territory behind your ears."

"Don't forget to wash behind your knees."

"That will do for starters." Squall said and shook his head. "But it isn't easy to be clean." But he swallowed his pride and got to work.

Every morning he would get up at the crack of dawn and do his chores. There was so much to do now, with Seifer gone. And even more then that since the Countess had visited. Everyone in the area had increased his or her milk orders. So there was no time for self-improvement until late afternoon.

But then he really set to work. First he had a good long bath. Washing everything that he could reach twice over. And while his hair was drying he would fix his figure faults. He found out at this time that his one elbow was too boney and the opposite wrist wasn't boney enough. And he would exercise to loose what baby fat he had left.

And once that was all done he would brush and brush his hair.

His hair was the colour of chocolate, and was fairly long. So a thousand strokes took a long time. But he didn't mind, because Seifer had never seen it this clean. And wouldn't he be surprised when he stepped off the boat in Esthar. His skin the colour of winter cream, his hair the colour of fresh melted chocolate and his eyes the colour of the sky.

And so the days passed the same. And Squall began to blossom. And when one day a three-page letter from Seifer arrived. And Squall's eyes light up all the more.

He was getting to the point where people would walk into walls whenever he took the milk to town. And those who talked to him all agreed that he was kinder then he had been in the past.

There were a few that asked about Seifer. Which was a mistake unless you had the whole day to spend away, because this was his favourite subject to talk about.

He could spend hours talking about Seifer. He told them that Seifer was spectacular, that he was singularly fabulous. That he was perfect. It was to the point that anybody who would ask would find it hard to stay awake. But they did their best since Squall loved him so completely.

Which is why Seifer's death hit her the way it did.

Seifer had written to her just before he sailed for Esthar. The Queen's Pride was his ship, and he loved him. Because that is always how Seifer wrote to him. It is raining today, and I love you. My cold is better, and I love you. Say hello to Horse for me, and I love you.

But then there were no letters. But that wasn't unusual. He was at sea. He couldn't just drop a letter into the post to deliver.

And then one day Squall came home from delivering milk and his parents were standing at the front door, looks of great concern on their faces.

"Off the Fisherman's Horizon coast." His father whispered.

His mother continued in a whispered tone as well. "Without warning. At night."

"What?" Squall asked.

"Pirates," said his father.

Squall thought he had better sit down so he went to the kitchen, his parents following him inside.

There was quiet in the room as they looked at each other.

"He has been taken prisoner then?" Squall managed.

His mother shook her head. "No."

"It was Zell," his father supplied, "The Dread Pirate Zell."

"Oh." Squall looked down at his hands in his lap. "The one who never leaves survivors?"

"Yes." His father said.

----o----

"Murdered by pirates is good." Riku sat straighter on his bed.

"Shh, let me read."

----o----

There was quiet once more in the room as Squall digested what he had just heard.

Suddenly Squall began talking very fast. "Was he stabbed? … Did he drown? … Did they cut his throat asleep? … Did they wake him, do you suppose? … Perhaps they whipped him dead. …" He stopped then. "I'm getting silly, forgive me." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "As if the way they got him mattered. Excuse me please." With that he hurried off to his room.

He stayed there many days. His parents tried to get him to come out but he would not. It eventually got to the point that they had to leave his food outside his door. And even then he only too bits and pieces of what was offered, just enough to stay alive.

There were no noises that came from inside the room. Not a whimper, not a sob, nothing. Not even the sounds of anger that were expected.

And when at last he came out his eyes were dry. His hair was well brushed and slightly falling into his eyes. He had cut it shorter then it was. The back was almost to his skull and the front was still long enough to come to past his chin. He was wearing a white skin-tight shirt with a new pair of black leather pants.

His parents stared up at him from their silent breakfast. They both moved to get him breakfast but he raised a hand. "I can care for myself, please." And with that he went about getting some food, both parents watching him closely as he did so.

They were both stunned as he had never looked better. He had entered his room just an impossibly lovely man. The gentleman who exited was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, and an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of his features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering.

He was eighteen years old, and the most beautiful creature alive. But He didn't care.

"Are you all right?" His mother asked.

Squall sipped at some coffee. "Fine." He said softly.

"You sure?" His father wondered.

"Yes," Squall replied. There was a long pause where nothing was heard. Even the birds seemed to have stopped singing. "But I must never love again."

He never did.

----o----o----o----o----o----

So we are what 10 minutes into the movie, and a whole chapter into the book? It's funny how they do that when books get turned into movies. They squish all the important stuff from the beginning into the first few minutes so that we can see more sword fights, more kissing, more of the stuff people like. But they leave out important information. Like I bet you the things in the next chapters (for those of you who have seen the movie and not read the book) will come as a shock. That is because they left chapter 2 and 3 of the book out of the movie entirely. So here I go into a world the people of the movies didn't show.


	5. Chapter 4

Sephiroth stopped reading for a bit and turned a few pages.

"What is it grandpa?"

"Nothing to worry about, just some boring history stuff. You won't like it."

"Oh don't skip parts I might miss the sports."

"Ok then."

----o----

When the country was first established they appointed Gringoff as the King. And he had three sons. The first two died in battle and the third Hendrie took the crown from this father upon his death.

----o----

"Grandpa is there anything but history in this part?" Riku asked.

"Sorry to say but no."

"Ok, you can skip the boring parts."

"Now please shut up and let me read."

"Will do General."

----o----

Princess Rinoa was a woman by every standard: Her skin was a warm white colour. Her shoulders soft and flowing. Her back was straight and held well. Her hair was long and flowing. She had well formed hips and long legs. Yes Rinoa was ever inch a ruler and a princess.

But with all her beauty she was awkward. She had to fight to stay on her feet most of the time. If she had wanted to be a ballet dancer, she would have been doomed to a miserable life of frustration. But she didn't want to be a ballet dancer. She wasn't in that much of a hurry to be Queen either. Even war, at which she excelled, took second place in her affections. Everything took second place in his affections.

Hunting was her one and only love.

She mad it a practice to never go a day without killing something. It really didn't matter what she killed. At first she just killed big things: Catoblepas or Malboro. But as her skills increased, she began to enjoy the smaller beasts too. She would be happy to spend the afternoon tracking down a Red Bat across forests or a Creeps through the underground rivers. Once she was determined, once she had focused on an object, the Princess was relentless. She never tired, never wavered; neither ate nor slept. It was death chess and she was the international champion.

And so led to the problem of her being away for long periods of time, ships and horses being what they were. The must always been an heir to the throne, and it wasn't a problem as long as her father was still alive. But someday her father would die and the princess would be Queen and she would have to select a King to supply an heir for the day of her death.

So to avoid this problem of her absence, Princess Rinoa built the Zoo of Death. She had designed it herself with Countess Selphie's help. She also sent out those people whom she could trust to stock it for her. It was kept full of the most deadly things the world had ever conjured. There wasn't a place known to have more creatures in one place anywhere in the world. Besides nobody was allowed to go there. Only a lone keeper was allowed into care for the creatures and make sure they were as healthy and as strong as they could possibly be.

Another thing was the whole complex was below ground. The princess picked the spot herself, in the quietest, remotest corner of the castle grounds. She had designed it with five levels, all with the proper needs for her individual enemies. On the first level she placed those with the advantage of speed. On the second she placed the creatures of immense strength. The third level was for those that fought with poison. The fourth held those that were most dangerous, the creatures of fear. The keeper shivered during feeding time on the fourth level.

The fifth level was left empty.

The princess constructed it in hopes of someday finding something worthy, something as dangerous and fierce and powerful as she was.

Unlikely. Still, she was and eternal optimist, se she kept the great cage of the fifth level always at the ready for a visitor.

And there was really more then enough that was lethal on the other four levels to keep her eternally happy. The princess would sometimes pick her prey by luck - she had a great wheel with a spinner and on the outside of the wheel was a picture of every animal in the Zoo and she would twirl the spinner at breakfast and wherever it stopped the keeper would get that breed ready. And sometimes she would choose by mood. And of course whatever she requested was done.

She was hunting a T-Rexaur one day when the news of the King's heath made its ultimate intrusion. It was mid-afternoon and the Princess had been grappling with the giant beast since morning. And after all those hours the beast was weakening. Again and again the dinosaur tried to bite, a sure sign of failure of strength in the legs. The princess warded off the attempted bites with ease, and the creature was heaving at the sides desperate for air. The princess moved to the side, then a little more, and then she darted forward, spun the great beast around a few times and held it by the throat. Slowly applying pressure to its windpipe.

From above the Countess Selphie's voice interrupted.

"There is news."

"From the battle raging below the Princess replied, "Can it not wait?"

"For how long?"

A loud crack filled the air around the room. And the T-Rexaur fell like a rag doll. "Now what is all the fuss?"

"Your father has had his annual physical," The countess reported.

"And?"

"Your father is dying."

"Shit!" Said the Princess. "That means I shall have to get married."

----o----o----o----o----o----

So originally I had this and the next chapter as one. But you know I just kind of cut it here. It's not like your missing out on anything, so you have nothing to yell at me about when you review.


	6. Chapter 5

"Sports, this is good." Riku mumbled.

Sephiroth ignored the comment and kept reading.

----o----

Four of them met in the great council room of the castle. Princess Rinoa, her best friend Countess Selphie, her aging father King Caraway and Queen Ultimecia, her evil stepmother.

Queen Ultimecia was shaped like a gumdrop and coloured like a raspberry. She was the most beloved person in the kingdom and married the King long before he began mumbling. Princess Rinoa was but a child then, and since the only stepmothers she had known were in stories, and they were all evil she had always called Ultimecia that or "E. S." for short.

"All right, " The princess began when they were all seated. "Who do I marry?" lets pick a groom and get it done."

King Caraway said, "I've been thinking it's really getting to be about the time for Rinoa to pick a groom." He didn't actually say so much that. It was more like. "I've beee mumble mumbbble humpmummmmmble engamumble."

Queen Ultimecia was the only person who bothered ferreting out his meanings anymore. "You couldn't be righter, dear." She said as he patted his arm.

"What did he say?"

"He said whoever we decide on would be getting a thunderously beautiful princess for a lifetime companion."

"Tell him he's looking well himself," the princess returned.

"We've only just changed miracle woman," the Queen said. "That accounts for the improvement."

"You mean you fired Miracle Edea?" Princess Rinoa said. "I thought she was the only one left."

"No, we found another one up in the mountains and she's quite extraordinary. Old, of course, but then, who wants a young miracle woman?"

"Tell them I've changed miracle woman," King Caraway said. It came out: "Tell mumble mirumble mumble."

"What did he say?" The princess wondered.

"He said a woman of your importance couldn't marry just _any_ prince."

"True, true," Princess Rinoa agreed. Then she sighed deeply. "I suppose that means Irvine."

"That would be a perfect match politically," Countess Selphie added. Prince Irvine was from Galbadia the country that lay just across the ocean from Garden. In any case the two countries had stayed alive over the centuries mainly by warring on each other. There had been the Olive War, the Tuna Fish Discrepancy, which almost bankrupted both nations, the Centra Rift which did send them into insolvency only to be followed by the Discord of the Emeralds, in which they both got rich again, chiefly by banding together for a brief period and robbing everybody within sailing distance.

"I wonder if he hunts, though," said Rinoa. "I don't care so much about personality, just so they're good with a knife."

"I saw him several years ago," the queen said. "He seemed lovely, though hardly muscular. I would describe him more as a poet then a doer. But again, lovely."

"Skin?" Asked the princess.

"Sun kissed," answered the Queen.

"Lips?"

"Number or colour?" Asked the Queen.

"Colour, E. S."

"Roseish. Cheeks the same. Eyes largish, lavender in colour."

"Hmmm," Said Rinoa. "And form?"

"Strong. Always clothed divinely. And, of course, famous throughout Galbadia for the largest hat collection in the world."

"Well, lets bring him over here for some state occasions and have a look at him," said the princess.

"Isn't there a prince in Galbadia that would be about the right age?" Said the King. It came out "Mumce Galble, abumble mumble?"

"Are you never wrong?" Said Queen Ultimecia, and she smiled into the weakening eyes of her ruler.

"What did he say?" Wondered the princess.

"That I should leave this very day with an invitation," replied the Queen.

So began the great visit of Prince Irvine.

Dinner was held in the Great Hall of Caraway's castle. Ordinarily they would have dined in the dining room, but, for an event of this importance, that place was too small. So tables were placed end to end along the center of the Great Hall an enormous drafty spot that was given to being chilly even in the summertime. There were many doors and giant entranceways, and the wind gusts sometimes reached gale force.

This night was more typical then less; the winds whistled constantly and the candles constantly needed to be relit, and some of the more daring dressed ladies shivered. But Princess Rinoa didn't seem to mind, and in Garden, if she didn't mind, you didn't either.

At 8:23 there seemed every chance of a lasting alliance starting between Galbadia and Garden.

At 8:24 the two nations were close to war.

What happened was this. At 8:23:05 the main course of the evening was ready for serving and the great double doors that led from the kitchen were opened. They were at the north end of the room. And it remained open throughout what happened next.

The proper wine for the main course of the evening was ready for serving and the double doors that led to the wine cellar were opened ay 8:23:10. It might be well to note that these doors were at the south end of the room.

At this point an unusually strong cross wind was clearly evident. Princess Rinoa did not notice, because at that moment she was whispering to prince Irvine. They were cheek to cheek under the rim of a dark purple hat, which brought out the colour of his eyes.

At 8:23:20, King Caraway made his somewhat belated entrance to dinner. He was late now, had been for years, and in the past people had been known to starve before he got there. But lately, meals just began without him, which was fine with him, since his new miracle woman had taken him off meals anyway. The King entered through the King's Door, a huge hinged thing that only he could use. It took several servants in excellent condition to work it. It should be said that the King's Door was always in the east side of any room, since the King was, of all people, closest to the sun.

What happened next was best described as a nor'easter or sou'easter, depending on where were sitting in the room when it struck. But everybody there agreed that at 8:23:25 it was very windy in the Great Hall.

Most of the candles lost their flame and fell, which was only important because a few fell, still burning, into the small kerosene cups that were placed here and there across the table so that the main course could be properly flamed when served. Servants rushed in from all over to put out the flames, and they did a good job, considering that everything in the room was flying this way and that, fans and scarves and hats.

Particularly the hat of Prince Irvine.

It flew off to the wall behind him, where he quickly retrieved it and put it properly on. That was at 8:23:50. It was too late.

"At 8:23:55 Princess Rinoa rose roaring, her face contorted I great anger. There were still flames in some places, and their redness gave her a more evil look. She looked like a barrel of fire as she stood there. The she looked down on Prince Irvine of Galbadia and said the five words that brought the nations to the brink.

"Sir, feel free to flee!"

And with that she stormed from the Great Hall. The time was then 8:24.

Princess Rinoa made her angry way to the balcony above the Great Hall and stared sown at the chaos. The fires were still in some places flaming red, guests were pouring out through the doors and Prince Irvine, hatted and faint, was being carried by his servants far from view.

Queen Ultimecia finally caught up with the princess, who stormed along the balcony clearly not yet in control. "I do wish you hadn't been quite so blunt," Queen Ultimecia said.

The Princess whirled on her. "I'm not marrying any bald princes, and that's that."

"No one would know," Queen Ultimecia explained. "He has hats even for sleeping."

"I would know," cried the Princess. "Did you see the candlelight reflecting off his skull?"

"But things would have been so good with Galbadia," the Queen said, addressing herself half to the Princess, half to Countess Selphie, who now joined them.

"Forget about Galbadia. I'll conquer it sometime. I've been wanting to ever since I was a kid anyway." She approached the Queen. "People snicker behind your back when you've got a bald husband, and I can do without that, thank you. You'll just have to find someone else."

"Who?"

"Find me somebody, he should just look nice, that's all."

"That Irvine has no hair," King Caraway said puffing up to the others. "Iv-umble mumble humble."

"Thank you for pointing that out, dear," said Queen Ultimecia.

"I don't think Rinoa will like that," said the King. "Dumble humble mumble."

Then Countess Selphie stepped forward. "You want someone who looks nice; but what if he is a commoner?"

"The commoner the better," Princess Rinoa replied, pacing again.

"What if he can't hunt?" The Countess went on.

"I don't care if she can't spell," the Princess said. Suddenly she stopped and faced them all. "I'll tell you what I want," she began then. "I want someone who is so beautiful that when you see him you say, 'Wow, that Rinoa must be some kind of woman to have a husband like that.' Search the country, search the world, just find him!"

Countess Selphie could only smile. "He is already found," she said.

It was dawn when the two ladies reined in at the hilltop. Countess Selphie rode a splendid black horse, large perfect, powerful. The Princess rode on of her whites and it made Selphie's mount seem like a plow puller.

"He delivers milk in the mornings," Countess Selphie said.

"And he is truly-without-question-no-possibility-of-error beautiful?"

"He was something of a mess when I saw him," the Countess admitted. "But the potential was overwhelming."

"A milkman." The princess ran the words across her tongue. "I don't know that I could wed one of them even under the best conditions. People might snicker that he was the best I could do."

"True," the Countess admitted. "If you prefer, we can ride back to Garden City without waiting."

"We've come this far," the Princess said. "We might as well wait-" Her voice quite simply died. "I'll take him," she managed finally as Squall rode slowly by below them.

"No one will snicker, I think," The count said.

"I must court him now," said the Princess. "Leave us alone for a minute." She rode the white expertly down the hill.

Squall had never seen such a giant beast, or such a rider.

"I am your Princess and you will marry me," Rinoa said.

Squall whispered, "I am your servant and I refuse."

"I am your Princess and you can not refuse."

"I am your loyal servant and I just did."

"Refusal means death."

"Kill me then."

"I am your Princess and not that bad. How could you rather be dead then married to me?"

"Because," Squall said, "marriage involves love, and that is not a pastime as which I excel. I tried once and it went badly, and I am sworn never to love another."

"Love?" said Princess Rinoa. "Who mentioned love? Not me, I can tell you. Look, there must always be an heir top the throne of Garden. That's me. Once my father does, there won't be an heir, just a Queen. That's me again. When that happens, I'll marry and have children. So you can either marry me and be the richest most powerful man in thousands of miles and give turkeys away at Christmas and provide me an heir, or you can die in terrible pain in the very near future. Make up your own mind."

"I'll never love you."

"I wouldn't want it if I had it."

"Then by all means let us marry."

----o----o----o----o----o----

Ok so a little note on that. And so yields the longest chapter I have ever written for a story. Well kind of, they were full of well stuff that even Goldman in his revised version left out. Did you know that Morgenstern spent 57 pages packing in chapter 3? 11 pages of the Queen packing up her wardrobe, 2 pages of travel, 5 pages to unpack, 1 page to invite the Princess, 1 page to accept that invitation, 23 pages of the princess packing all her clothes and hats, 1 page to travel back to the city, nearly a page to get the Princess into quarters, and 12 pages to unpack all those hats. And then Morgenstern spent the next little bit of time explaining the hats. How the Princess would change them for everything she would do. She had a hat for travel, a hat for indoors and a hat for outdoors. She had hats of every colour and style. And she always excused herself to change her hat before a new activity started. I'm glad I never got that version of the book, or you guys would leave me on my ass after the first boring part.


	7. Chapter 6

What with one thing and another, three years passed.

----o----o----o----o----o----

Ok, very super short chapter. And I will explain.

Goldman left this chapter out of his revised version as well. Just putting these words. He said he didn't even know this chapter existed until he read the long original version.

You see the original chapter was the longest in the book. 15 pages of Prince Humperdinck whining about how he can't marry a commoner and making Buttercup the Princess of a back portion of Florin, a place called Hammersmith, 18 pages on cures for the King Lotharon, and seventy-two pages on how they trained Buttercup to be a Princess.

Goldman said, "…from a narrative point of view, in 105 pages nothing happens."

And so I use his words to skip a long and boring part taking three years of the characters lives and possible 3 years of yours to read to give you the shortest chapter ever.


	8. Chapter 7

I have decided that in order to give you faster updates I will skip my usually send off to my beta. Sorry love. And I am truly sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes you may find.

----o----o----o----o----o----

The Great Square of Garden City was filled as never before. Everybody waited for the introduction of Princess Rinoa's Groom-to-be the Prince Squall of Fire Cave. The crowd had begun forming two days before, but up until a day ago there was no more then a thousand people But as the moment came closer the number multiplied. People from all over the country came. No one had ever seen the Prince, but rumours of his beauty were spreading like wildfire, and they grew more elaborate with each passing.

At noon, Princess Rinoa appeared at the balcony of her father's castle and raised her arms. The crowd, which by now was so large there was standing room only, slowly quieted. There were stories that the king was dying, that he was already dead, that he had been dead long since, that he was fine.

"My people, my beloveds, from whom we draw our strength, today is a day of greeting. As you must have heard, my honoured father's health is not what it once was. He is, of course, ninety-seven, so who can ask more. As you also know Garden needs an heir."

The crowd below her began to fidget with the news.

"In three months, our country celebrates its five hundredth anniversary. To celebrate that celebration, I shall, on that sundown, take as my husband the Prince Squall of Fire Cave. You do not know him yet. But you will meet him now," And she made a sweeping gesture and the balcony doors swung open. Squall moved out beside her on the balcony.

And the crowd quite literally gasped.

The twenty-one-year-old far surpassed the eighteen-year-old mourner. His figure faults were gone, the too bony elbow having fleshed out nicely; the opposite pudgy wrist could not have been trimmer. His hair, which was once the colour of chocolate, was still the colour of chocolate, except that before, he had tended it himself, whereas now he had five full-time hairdressers who managed things for him. His skin was still like wintry cream, but now, with two butlers assigned to each appendage and four for the rest of him, it actually, in certain lights, seemed to provide him with a gentle, continually moving as he moved, glow.

Princess Rinoa held her hand out for him to take before she held it high. The crowd cheered. "That's enough, mustn't risk over-exposure," The princess said, and she started back in toward the castle.

"They have waited, some of them, so long," Squall answered. "I would like to walk among them."

"We do not walk among commoners unless it is unavoidable," the Princess said.

"I have known more then a few commoners in my time," Squall told her. "They will not, I think, harm me."

And with that he left the balcony and reappeared a moment later on the great steps of the castle, quite alone. He walked open-armed down into the crowd.

Wherever he went the crowd the people parted like the red sea. He crossed and re-crossed the Great Square and always, ahead of him, the people swept apart and let him pass. Squall continued, moving slowly and smiling, alone, like some religious leader.

Most of the people there would never forget that day. None of them, of course, had ever been so close to perfection, and the greater majority adored him instantly. There were, to be sure, some who, while admitting he was pleasant enough, were withholding judgement on how well he could be king. And, of course, there were some more who were frankly jealous. Very few of them hated him.

And only three of them were planning to murder him.

Squall, naturally, knew none of this. He was smiling, and when people wanted to touch him, well, he let them, when they wanted to brush their skin against his, well, he let them, when they wanted to kiss him and grope him, well, he let them do that too. Kidding, don't get anything into your head he was a Prince now. He had studied hard to do things royally, and he wanted very much to succeed, so he kept his posture erect and his smile gentle, and that his death was so close would have only made him laugh, if someone had told him.

But-

-in the farthest corner of the Great Square-

-in the highest building in the land-

-deep in the deepest shadow-

-the man in black stood waiting.

His boots were black and leather. His pants were black and his shirt. His mask was black, blacker then a raven.

His eyes were flashing and cruel and deadly …

----o----o----o----o----o----

Dun, dun, dun! And so I end this chapter with a cliffhanger. Don't kill me, just review.


	9. Chapter 8

Squall was more then a little tired after his triumph. The touching of the crowds had exhausted him, so he rested a bit, and then, toward mid afternoon, he changed into his riding clothes and went to fetch Horse. This was one part of his life that had not changed over the years. He still loved to ride, and every afternoon, weather permitting or not, he rode alone for several hours in the wild land beyond the castle.

He did his best thinking then.

Not that his best thinking ever expanded horizons. Still, he told himself, he was no dummy either, so long as he kept his thoughts to himself, well, where was the harm?

As he rode through the woods and steams and heather, his brain was awhirl. The walk through the crowds had moved him, and in a strange way. For even though he had done nothing for three years now but train to be a prince and a king, today was the first day he actually understood that it was all soon to be a reality.

'And I just don't like Rinoa,' he thought. 'It's not that I hate her or anything. I just never see her; She's always off someplace or playing in the Zoo of Death.'

In Squall's way of thinking, there were two main problems: _one_, was it wrong to marry without liking someone, and _two_, if it was, was it too late to do anything about it.

The answers, in his way of thinking, as he rode along, were: _one_, no and _two_, yes.

It wasn't wrong to marry someone you didn't like, it just wasn't right either. If the whole world did it, that wouldn't be so great, what with everybody kind of bitching at everybody else as the years went by. But, of course, not everybody did it; so forget about that. The answer to _two_ was even easier: he had given his word he would marry; that would have been enough. True, she had told him quite honestly that if he said "no" she would have to have him disposed of, in order to keep respect for the Crown at its proper level; still, he could have, had he so chosen, said "no."

Everyone had told him, since he became a prince-in-training, that he was very likely the most beautiful man in the world. Now he was going to be the richest and most powerful as well.

'Don't expect too much from life,' Squall told himself as he rode along. 'Learn to be satisfied with what you have.'

Dusk was closing in when Squall crested the hill. He was perhaps half an hour from the castle, and his daily ride was three-quarters done. Suddenly he reined Horse, for standing in the dimness beyond was the strangest trio he had ever seen.

The man in front was dark, Trabian perhaps, with the gentlest face, almost angelic. He had one leg too short, and the makings of a humpback, but he moved forward toward him with a surprising speed and nimbleness. The other two remained rooted. The second, also dark, probably Centrian, was as erect and slender as the blade of steel that was attached to his side. Eyes up people, his face is a little higher. The third man, perhaps a Shumi, was easily the biggest being he had ever seen.

"A word?" The Trabian said, raising his arms. His smile was more angelic then his face.

Squall halted. "Speak."

"We are but poor circus performers," the Trabian explained. "It is dark and we are lost. We were told there was a village nearby that might enjoy our skills."

"You were misinformed," Squall told him. "There is no one, not for many miles."

"Then there will be no one to hear you scream," the Trabian said, and he jumped with frightening agility toward Squall's face.

That was all Squall remembered. Perhaps he did scream, but if he did it was more from terror then anything else, because certainly there was no pain. The Trabians hands expertly touched places on his neck, and unconsciousness came.

He awoke to the lapping of water.

He was wrapped in a blanket and the giant Shumi was putting him in the bottom of a boat. For a moment he was about to talk, but then they began talking, he thought it better to listen. And after he had listened for a moment, it got harder and harder to hear, because of the terrible pounding of his heart.

"I think you should kill him now," the Shumi said.

"The less you think, the happier I'll be," the Trabian answered.

There was the sound of ripping cloth.

"What is that?" The Centrian asked.

"The same as I attached to his saddle," the Trabian replied. "Fabric from the uniform of an officer of Galbadia."

"I still think-" the Shumi began.

"He must be found dead on the Galbadia frontier or we will not be paid the remainder of our fee. Is that clear enough for you?"

"I just feel better when I know what's going on, that's all," the Shumi mumbled. "People are always thinking I'm so stupid because I'm big and strong and sometimes drool a little when I get excited."

"The reason people think you're so stupid," the Trabian said, "is because you are stupid. It has nothing to do with your drooling."

There came the sound of a flapping sail. "Watch your heads," the Centrian cautioned, and then the boat was moving. "The people of Garden will not take his death well, I shouldn't think. He had become beloved."

"There will be war," the Trabian agreed. "We have been paid to start it. It's a fine line of work to be expert in. If we do this perfectly, there will be a continual demand for our services."

"Well I don't like it all that much," the Centrian said. "Frankly, I wish you had refused."

"The offer was too high."

"I don't like killing beautiful things," the Centrian said.

"Hyne does it all the time; if it doesn't bother Him, don't let it worry you."

Through all this, Squall had not moved.

The Centrian said, "Let's just tell him we're taking him away for ransom."

The Shumi agreed. "He's so beautiful and he'd go all crazy if he knew."

"He knows already," the Trabian said. "He's been awake for every word of this."

Squall lay under the blanket, not moving. How could he have known that, he wondered.

"How can you be sure?" the Centrian asked.

"The Trabian senses all," the Trabian said.

'Conceited,' Squall thought.

"Yes, very conceited," the Trabian said.

'He must be a mind reader,' Squall thought.

"Are you giving it full sail?" The Trabian said.

"As much as is safe," the Centrian answered from the tiller.

"We have one hour on them, so no risks yet. It will take his horse perhaps twenty-seven minutes to reach the castle, a few minutes more for them to figure out what happened and, since we left an obvious trail, they should be after us within an hour. We should reach the Cliffs in fifteen minutes more and, with any luck at all, the Galbadia frontier at dawn, when he dies. His body should be quite warm when the Princess reaches his mutilated form. I only wish we could stay for her grief-it should be epic."

'Why does he let me know his plans,' Squall wondered.

"You are going to sleep now, my lord," the Centrian said, and his fingers suddenly were touching his temple, his shoulder, his neck, and he was unconscious again.

Squall did not know how long he was out, but they were still in the boat when he blinked, the blanket shielding him. And this time, without daring to think-the Trabian would have known it somehow-he threw the blanket aside and dove deep into the water.

He stayed under for as long as he dared and then surfaced, starting to swim across the moonless water with every ounce of strength remaining to him. Behind him in the darkness there were angry voices calling out.

I would like to take this time to stop my narrative and let us all view Squall in his wet state. Beautiful yes?

Ok moving on.

"Go in, go in!" from the Trabian.

"I only dog paddle," from the Shumi.

"You're better than I am," from the Centrian.

Squall continued to leave them behind. His arms ached from effort but he gave them no rest. His legs kicked and his heart pounded.

"I can hear him kicking," the Trabian said. "Veer left."

Squall sent into a breaststroke, silently swimming away.

"Where is he?" shrieked the Trabian.

"The fastitocalon will get him, don't worry," cautioned the Centrian.

'Oh dear, I wish you hadn't mentioned that,' thought Squall.

"Prince," the Trabian called, "do you know what happens to fastitocalon when they smell blood in the water? They go mad. There is no controlling their wildness. They rip and shred and chew and devour, and I'm in a boat, Prince, and there isn't any blood in the water now, so we're both quite safe, but there is a knife in my hand, my lord, and if you don't come back I'll cut my arms and I'll cut my legs and I'll catch the blood in a cup and I'll fling it as far as I can and fastitocalon can smell blood in the water for miles and you won't be beautiful for long."

Squall hesitated, silently treading water. Around him now, although it was surely his imagination, he seemed to be hearing the swish of giant tails.

"Come back and come back now. There will be no other warning."

Squall thought, 'If I come back, they'll kill me anyway, so what's the difference?'

"The difference is-"

'There he goes doing that again,' thought Squall. 'He really is a mind reader.'

"-if you come back now," the Trabian went on, "I give you my word as a gentleman and assassin that you will die totally without pain. I assure you, you will get no such promise from the fastitocalon."

The fish sounds in the night were closer now.

Squall began to tremble with fear. He was terribly ashamed of himself but there it was. He only wished he could see for a minute if there really were fastitocalon and if the Trabian really would cut himself.

The Trabian winced out loud.

"He just cut him arm, lord," the Shumi called out. "He's catching the blood in a cup now. There must be a half-inch of blood in the bottom."

The Trabian winced again.

"He cut his leg this time," The Shumi went on. "The cup is getting full."

'I don't believe them,' Squall thought. 'There are no fastitocalon in the water and there is no blood in his cup.'

"My arm is back to throw," the Trabian said. "Call out your location or not, the choice is yours."

'I'm not making a peep,' Squall decided.

"Farewell," from the Trabian.

There was the splashing sound of liquid landing on liquid.

Then there came a pause.

Then the fastitocalon went mad-

----o----o----o----o----o----

-Runs for cover leaving a note on the ground-

The note it reads:

Sorry guys! I left it at a major cliffhanger! DON'T KILL ME, just review!


	10. Chapter 9

"He doesn't get eaten by the at this time."

Riku sat on his bed clutching the sheets to his chest. His eyes round with fear. "WHAT!"

"The fastitocalon don't get him. I'm explaining to you because you looked nervous." Sephiroth looked up over the edge of the book.

"Well, I wasn't nervous!" Riku exclaimed as he smoothed the sheets down.

Sephiroth just sat there staring at his grandson. Not saying a word. Just waiting.

"Well, maybe I was a little bit concerned. But that's not the same thing." Riku admitted.

"Because I can stop now if you want."

"No. You could read a little bit more ... if you want." Riku gathered up the sheets once again and waited for his grandfather to begin again.

----o----

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness?" The Trabian said. "Those are the fastitocalon."

----o----

"We're past that, Grandpa. You read it already."

"Oh. Oh my goodness, I did. I'm sorry. Beg your pardon."

----o----

Then the fastitocalon went mad. All around him, Squall could hear them beeping and screaming and thrashing their mighty tails. 'Nothing can save me,' Squall realized. 'I'm a dead cookie.'

Fortunately for all concerned save the fastitocalon, it was around this time that the moon came out.

"There he is," shouted the Trabian, and like lightning the Centrian turned the boat and as the boat drew close the Shumi reached out a giant arm and then he was back in the safety of her murderers while all around them the fastitocalon bumped each other in wild frustration.

"Keep him warm," the Centrian said from the tiller, tossing his cloak to the Shumi.

"Don't catch cold," the Shumi said, wrapping Squall into the cloak's folds.

"It doesn't seem to matter all that much," he answered, "seeing you're killing me at dawn."

"He'll do the actual work," The Shumi said, indicating the Trabian, who was wrapping cloth around his cuts. "We'll just hold you."

"Hold your stupid tongue," the Trabian commanded.

The Shumi immediately hushed.

"I don't think he's so stupid," Squall said. "And I don't think you're so smart either, with all your throwing blood in the water. That's not what I would call grade-A thinking."

"It worked, didn't it? You're back, aren't you?" The Trabian crossed toward him. "Once royalty are sufficiently frightened, they scream."

"But I didn't scream; the moon came out," answered Squall somewhat triumphantly.

The Trabian punched him.

"Enough of that," the Shumi said then.

The tiny humpback looked dead at the giant. "Do you want to fight me? I don't think you do."

"No, sir," the Shumi mumbled. "No. But don't use force. Please. Force is mine. Strike me if you feel the need. I won't care."

The Trabian returned to the other side of the boat. "He would have screamed," he said. "He was about to cry out. My plan was ideal as all my plans are ideal. It was the moon's ill timing that robbed me of perfection." He scowled unforgivingly at the yellow wedge above them. Then he stared ahead. "There!" The Trabian pointed. "The Cliffs of Insanity."

And there they were. Rising straight and sheer from the water, a thousand feet into the night. They provided the most direct route between Garden and Galbadia, but no one ever used them, sailing instead the long way, many miles around. Not that the Cliffs were impossible to scale; two men were known to have climbed then in the last century alone.

"Sail straight for the steepest part," the Trabian commanded.

The Centrian said, "I was."

Squall did not understand. 'Going up the Cliffs could hardly be done,' he thought; 'and no one had ever mentioned secret passages through them.' Yet here they were, sailing closer and closer to the mighty rocks, now surely less then a quarter-mile away.

For the first time the Trabian allowed himself a smile. "All is well. I was afraid your little jaunt in the water was going to cost me too much time. I had allowed an hour of safety. There must still be fifty minutes of it left. We are miles ahead of anybody and safe, safe, safe."

"No one could be following us yet?" the Centrian asked.

"No one," the Trabian assured him. "It would be inconceivable."

"Absolutely inconceivable?"

"Absolutely, totally, and, in all other ways, inconceivable," the Trabian reassured him. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," the Centrian replied. "It's only that I just happened to look back and something's there."

They all turned to look.

Something was indeed there. Less then a mile behind them across the moonlight was another sailing boat, small, painted what looked like black, with a giant sail that billowed black in the night, and a single man at the tiller. A man in black.

The Centrian looked at the Trabian. "It must just be some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise alone at night through fastitocalon-infested waters."

"There is probably a more logical explanation," the Trabian said. "But since no one in Galbadia could know yet what we've done, and no one in Garden could have gotten here so quickly, he is definitely not, how ever much it may look like it, following us. It is coincidence and nothing more."

"He's gaining on us," The Shumi said.

"That is also inconceivable," the Trabian said. "Before I stole this boat we're in, I made many inquiries as to what was the fastest ship on all the channel and everyone agreed it was this one."

"You're right," the Shumi agreed, staring back. "He isn't gaining on us. He's just getting closer, that's all."

"It is the angle we're looking from and nothing more," said the Trabian.

Squall could not take his eyes from the great black sail. Surely the three men he was with frightened him. But somehow, for reasons he could never begin to explain, the man in black frightened him more.

"All right, look sharp," the Trabian said then, just a drop of edginess in his voice.

The Cliffs of Insanity were very close now.

The Centrian manoeuvred the craft expertly, which was not easy, and the waves were rolling in toward the rocks now and the spray was blinding. Squall shielded his eyes and put his head straight back, staring up into the darkness toward the top, which seemed shrouded and out of reach.

Then the humpback bounded forward, and as the ship reached the cliff face, he jumped up and suddenly there was a rope in his hand.

Squall stared in silent astonishment. The rope, thick and strong, seemed to travel all the way up the Cliffs. As he watched, the Trabian pulled at the rope again and again and it held firm. It was attached to something at the top-a giant rock, a towering tree, something.

"Fast now," the Trabian ordered. "If he is following us, which of course is not within the realm of human experience, but is he is, we've got to reach the top and cut the rope off before he can climb up after us."

"Climb?" Squall said. "I would never be able to-"

"Hush!" the Trabian ordered her. "Get ready!" he ordered the Centrian. "Sink it," he ordered the Shumi.

And then everybody got busy. The Centrian took a rope and tied Squall's hand and feet. The Shumi raised a great leg and stomped down at the center of the boat, which gave way immediately and began to sink. Then the Shumi went to the rope and took it in his hands.

"Load me," The Shumi said.

The Centrian lifted Squall and draped his body over the great shoulders of the Shumi. Then he tied himself to the Shumi's waist. Then the Trabian hopped, and clung to the Shumi's neck.

"All aboard," The Trabian said.

----o----o----o----o----o----

-passes out Squall shaped cookies- Eat up people, forever hot and so very yummy!

Sorry for taking so long with this. I went on a small vacation. And well I can't write and chase 3 kids around. And so people don't fuss, two of them are my sisters. Anyway I decided that cutting it before the climb was a good idea. I can spend the next chapter on the climb, the next three on the fights and the ones after that can be the happy ones. Stay tuned and review.


	11. Chapter 10

"All aboard,' the Trabian said.

With that the Shumi began to climb. It was a least a thousand feet and he was carrying the three, but he was not worried. When it came to power, nothing worried him. When it came to reading, he got knots in the middle of his stomach, and when it came to writing, he broke out in a cold sweat, and when addition was mentioned or, worse, long division, he always changed the subject right away.

But strength had never been his enemy. He could take the kick of a horse on his chest and not fall backward. He could take a hundred-pound flour sack between his legs and scissor it open without thinking. He had once held a large chocobo aloft using only the muscles in his back.

But his real might lay in his arms. There had never, not in a thousand years, been arms to match Ward's. The arms were not only gargantuan and totally obedient and surprisingly quick, but they were also, and this is why he never worried, tireless. If you gave him an axe and told him to chop down a forest, his legs might give out from having to support so much weight for so long, or the axe might shatter from the punishment of killing so many trees, but Ward's arms would be as fresh tomorrow as today.

And so, even with the Trabian on his next and the price around his shoulders and the Centrian at his waist, Ward did not feel in the least bit put upon. He was actually quite happy, because it was only when he was requested to use his might that he felt he wasn't a bother to everybody.

Up he climbed, arm over arm, arm over arm, two hundred feet now above the water, eight hundred feet now to go.

More then any of them, the Trabian was afraid of heights. All his nightmares, and they were never far from him when he slept, dealt with falling. So this terrifying ascension was most difficult for him, perched as he was on the next of the giant. Or should have been most difficult.

But he would not allow it, nope not him.

From the beginning, when as a child he realized his humped body would never conquer worlds, so he relied on his mind. He trained it, fought it, and brought it to heal. So now, three hundred feet in the night and rising higher, while he should have been trembling, he was not.

Instead he was thinking of the man in black.

There was no way anyone could have been quick enough to follow them. And yet from some devil's world that billowing black sail had appeared. How? How? The Trabian flogged his mind to find the answer, but he found only failure. In wild frustration he took a deep breath and, in spite of his terrible fears, he looked back down toward the dark water.

The man in black was still there, sailing like lightening toward the Cliffs. He could not have been more then a quarter-mile from them now.

"Faster!" the Trabian commanded.

"I'm sorry," The Shumi answered meekly. "I thought I was going faster."

"Lazy, lazy," spurred the Trabian.

"I'll never improve," the Shumi answered, but his arms began to move faster then before. "I cannot see too well because your legs are locked around my face, not that I mind too much," he went on, "so could you tell me please if we are halfway yet?"

"A little over, I should think," said the Centrian from his position around the giant's waist. "You're doing wonderfully, Ward."

"Thank you," said the giant.

"And he is closing on the Cliffs," added the Centrian.

No one had to ask who "he" was.

Six hundred feet now. The arms continued to pull, over and over. Sic hundred and twenty feet. Six hundred and fifty. Now faster then ever. Seven hundred.

"He's left his boat behind," the Centrian said. "He's jumped onto our rope. He's starting up after us."

"I can feel him," Ward said. "His body weight on the rope."

"He'll never catch up!" the Trabian cried. "Inconceivable!"

"You keep using that word!" the Centrian snapped. "I don't think it means what you think it does."

"How fast is he climbing?" Ward asked.

"I'm frightened," was the Centrian's reply.

The Trabian gathered his courage again and looked down.

The man in black seemed almost to be flying. Already he had cut their lead a hundred feet. Perhaps more.

"I thought you were supposed to be strong!" the Trabian shouted. "I thought you were this great mighty thing and yet he gains."

"I'm carrying three people," Ward explained. "He has only himself and-"

"Excuses are the refuge of cowards," The Trabian interrupted. He looked down again. The man in black had gained another hundred feet. He looked up now. The cliff tops were beginning to come into view. Perhaps a hundred and fifty feet more and they were safe.

Tied hand and foot, sick with fear, Squall wasn't sure what he wanted to happen. Except this much he knew; he didn't want to go though anything like it again.

"Fly, Ward!" the Trabian screamed. "A hundred feet to go."

Ward flew. He cleared his mind of everything but ropes and arms and fingers, and his arms pulled and his fingers gripped and the rope held taut and-

"He's over halfway," the Centrian said.

"Halfway to doom is where he is," the Trabian said. "We're fifty feet from safety, and once we're there and I untie the rope …" He allowed himself to laugh.

Forty feet

Ward pulled.

Twenty.

Ten.

It was over. Ward had done it. They had reached the top of the Cliffs, and first the Trabian jumped off and then the Shumi removed the Price, and as the Centrian untied himself, he looked back over the Cliffs.

The man in black was no more then three hundred feet away.

"It seems a shame," the Shumi said, looking down alongside the Centrian. "Such a climber deserves better than-"

The Trabian had untied the rope from its knots around an oak. The rope seemed almost alive, the greatest of all water serpents heading at last for home. It whipped across the cliff tops, spiralled into the moonlit Channel.

----o----o----o----o----o----

Oh! Another chapter! And it only took me three days of kicking my own butt to get it done. It's kind of short, but I want to cut it there. –Waves down the side of the cliffs- Bye, bye man in black. From that high up hitting water is like hitting stone.


	12. Chapter 11

The Trabian was roaring in laughter now, and he kept at it until the Centrian said, "He did it."

"Did what?" The humpback came scurrying to the cliff edge.

"Released the rope in time," the Centrian said. "See?" He pointed down.

The man in black dangled helplessly in space, clinging to the Cliffs with both hands.

"Oh, how rude we're being," the Trabian said then turning to Squall. "I'm sure you'd like to watch." He went to Squall and brought him, still tied hand and foot, so that he could watch the final pathetic struggle of the man in black three hundred feet below.

Squall closed his eyes, turning away.

"Shouldn't we be going?" the Centrian asked. "I thought you were telling us how important time was."

"It is, it is," the Trabian nodded. "But I just can't miss a death like this. I could stage one of these every week and sell tickets. I could get out of the assassination business entirely. Look at him-do you think his life is passing before his eyes? That's what the books say."

"He had very strong arms," Ward commented. "To hold on so long."

"He can't hold on much longer," the Trabian said. "He has to fall soon."

It was at that moment that the man in black began to climb. Not quickly, of course, and not without great effort. But still, there was no doubt that he was, in spite of the sheerness of the Cliffs, heading in an upward direction.

"Inconceivable!" the Trabian cried.

The Centrian whirled on him. "Stop saying that word! It was inconceivable that anyone could follow us, but when we looked behind, there was the man in black. It was inconceivable that anyone could sail as fast as we could sail, and yet he gained on us. Now this too is inconceivable, but look-look-" And the Centrian pointed down through the night. "See how he rises."

The man in black was, indeed, rising. Somehow, in some almost miraculous way, his fingers were finding holds in the crevices, and he was now perhaps fifteen feet closer to the top, farther from death.

The Trabian advances on the Centrian now, his wild eyes glittering at the insubordination. "I have the keenest mind that has ever been turned to unlawful pursuits," he began, "so when I tell you something, it is not guesswork; it is fact! And the fact is that the man in black is not following us. A more logical explanation would be that he is simply and ordinary sailor who dabbles in mountain climbing as a hobby who happened to have the same general final destination as we do. That certainly satisfies me and I hope it satisfies you. In any case, we cannot take the risk of his seeing us with the Prince, and therefore one of you must kill him."

"Shall I do it?" the Shumi wondered.

The Trabian shook his head. "No, Ward," he said finally. "I need your strength to carry the Prince. Pick him up now and let us hurry along." He turned to the Centrian. "We'll be heading directly for the frontier of Galbadia. Catch up as quickly as you can once he's dead."

The Centrian nodded.

The Trabian hobbled away.

The Shumi hoisted the Prince, began following the humpback. Just before he lost sight of the Centrian he turned and hollered, "catch up quickly."

"Don't I always?" The Centrian waved. "Farewell, Ward."

"Farewell, Laguna," the Shumi replied. And then he was gone, and the Centrian was alone.

Laguna moved to the cliff edge and knelt with his customary quick grace. Two hundred and fifty feet below him now, the man in black continued his painful climb. Laguna lay flat, staring down, trying to pierce the moonlight and find the climber's secret. For a long while, Laguna did not move. He was a good learner, but not a particularly good one, so he had to study. Finally, he realized that somehow, by some mystery, the man in black was making fists and jamming then into the rocks, and using them for support. Then he would reach up with his other hand. Until he found a high split in the rock, and make another fist and jam it in. Whenever he could find support for his feet, he would use it, but mostly it was the jammed fists that made the climbing possible.

Laguna marvelled, what a truly extraordinary adventurer this man in black must be. He was close enough now for Laguna to realize that the man was masked, a black hood covering all but his features. Another outlaw? Perhaps. Then why should they have to fight and for what? Laguna shook his head. It was a shame that such a fellow must die, but he had his orders, so there it was. Sometimes he did not like the Trabian's commands, but what could he do? Without the brains of the Trabian, he, Laguna, would never be able to command jobs of this calibre. The Trabian was a master planner. Laguna was a creature of the moment. The Trabians said "kill him," so why waste sympathy on the man in black. Someday someone would kill Laguna, and the world would not stop to morn.

He stood now, quickly jumping to his feet, his blade thin body ready for action. Only, the man in black was still many feet away. There was nothing to do but wait for him. Laguna hates waiting. So to make the time more pleasant, he pulled from the scabbard his great, his only love:

The ladies-sword.

How it danced in the moonlight. How glorious and true. Laguna brought it to his lips and with all the fervour in his great Centrian heart kissed the metal …

----o----o----o----o----o----

OOOOOOOHHHH! Laguna HOT! … -Coughs-

Another short one, but you know it just works out for the better this way.

That Trabian has one big house on denial doesn't he. Oh well it can't last forever. It's inconceivable.

There is one thing I would like to ask everybody. It's kind of been on my mind and now we cross it. At this point I can give you the history behind Laguna and later the history behind Ward. Do you want them? Or should I leave them out? In the movie they were left out. And well I feel the only real reason they are there is because they explain a lot about who the characters are. Since we'll see them a lot. And they do pop up in the sequel. No I'm not going to do the sequel. I don't have the resources. So tell me … history or no history. And leave nice fluffy reviews. I have more hot Squall cookies left. And I have Seifer, Laguna and Irvine cookies in the oven. They will be hot and toasty in a little while. And then just because I love the Ice Princess so much I'm going to make more of them. I'm rambling ain't I? Oh well you get the point. Just go review.


	13. Chapter 12

In the mountains of central Centra, set high in the hills above the City of Centra, was the village of Mideel. It was very small and the air was always clear. That was all you could say that was good about Mideel: terrific air-you could see for miles.

But there was no work, the dogs overran the streets and there was never enough food. The air, clear enough, was also too hot in daylight, freezing at night. As to Laguna's personal like, he was always a trifle hungry, he had no brothers or sisters, his father died in a war, and his mother had died in childbirth.

He was fantastically happy.

Because he had the most wonderful wife in the entire world, Raine Loire. She was beautiful in his eyes. She was also impatient and absent-minded and she never smiled.

Laguna loved her. Totally. Don't ask why. There really wasn't any one reason you could put your finger on. Oh, probably Raine loved him back, but love is many things, none of them logical.

Raine Loire made swords. If you wanted a fabulous sword, did you go to Raine Loire? If you wanted a great balanced piece of work, do you go to the mountains behind Centra? If you wanted a masterpiece, a sword for the ages, was it Mideel that your footsteps led you to?

Nope.

You went to Coral, because Coral was where lived the famous Zack Fair, and if you had the money and he had the time, you got your weapon. Zack was jovial and one of the richest and most honoured men in the city. And he should have been. He made wonderful swords, and nobleman bragged to each other when they owned and original Fair.

But sometimes-not often, mind you, maybe once a year, maybe less-a request would come in for a weapon that was more then even Zack could make. When that happened, did Zack say, "Alas, I am sorry, I cannot do it"?

Nope.

What he said was, "Of course, I'd be delighted, fifty percent down payment please, the rest before delivery, come back in a year, thank you very much."

The next day he would set out for the hills behind Centra.

"So, Raine," Zack Fair would call out when he reached Laguna's hut.

"So, Zack," Raine Loire would return from the hut doorway.

Then the two would embrace and Laguna would come running up and Zack would rumple his hair and then Laguna would make tea while the two old friends talked.

"I need you," Zack would always begin.

Raine would grunt.

"This very week I have accepted a commission to make a sword for a member of the Zanarkand nobility. It is to be jewel encrusted at the handle and the jewel are to spell out the name of his present mistress and-"

"No."

That single word and that alone. But it was enough. When Raine Loire said "no" it meant nothing else but.

Laguna, busy with the tea, knew what would happen now. Zack would use his charm.

"No."

Zack would use his wealth.

"No."

His wit, his wonderful gift of persuasion.

"No."

He would beg, entreat, promise, pledge.

"No."

Insults. Threats

"No."

Finally, genuine tears.

"No. More tea, Zack?"

"Perhaps another cup, thank you-" Then, big: "Why won't you?"

Laguna hurried to refill their cups so as never to miss a word. He knew they had been brought up together, had known each other twenty years, had never not loved one another deeply, and it thrilled him when he could hear them arguing. That was the strange thing: arguing was all they ever did.

"Why? My old friend asks me why? He sits there on his world-class ass and had the nerve to ask me why? Zack. Come to me sometimes with a challenge. Once, just once, ride up and say, 'Raine, I need a sword for an eighty-year-old man to fight a duel,' and I would embrace you and cry 'Yes!' Because to make a sword for an eighty-year-old man to survive a duel, that would be something. Because the sword would have to be strong enough to win, yet light enough not to tire his weary arm. I would have to use my all to perhaps find an unknown metal, strong but very light, or devise a different formula for a known one, mix some bronze with some iron and some air in a way ignored for a thousand years. I would kiss your smelly feet for an opportunity like that, dear Zack. But to make a stupid sword with stupid jewel in the form of stupid initials so some stupid Zanarkand can thrill his stupid mistress, no. That, I will not do."

"For the last time I ask you. Please."

"For the last time I tell you, I am sorry. No."

"I gave my word the sword would be made," Zack said. "I cannot make it. In the entire world no one can but you, and you say no. Which means I have gone back on a commitment. Which means I have lost my honour. Which means that since honour is the only thing in the world I care about, and since I cannot live without it, I must die. And since you are my dearest friend, I may as well die now, with out, backing in the warmth of your affection." And here Zack would pull out a knife. It was a magnificent thing, a gift from Raine on Zack's wedding day.

"Good-bye, little Laguna," Zack would say then. "Hyne grant you your quota of smiles."

It was forbidden for Laguna to interrupt.

"Good-bye, little Raine," Zack would say then. "Although I die in your hut, and although it is your own stubborn fault that causes me ceasing, in other words, even though you are killing me, don't think twice about it. I love you as I always have and god forbid your conscience should give you any trouble." He pulled open his coat, brought the knife closer, closer. "The pain is worse then I imagined!" Zack cried.

"How can it hurt when the point of the weapon is still an inch away from you belly?" Raine asked.

"I'm anticipating, don't bother me, let me die unpestered." He brought the point to his skin, pushed.

Raine grabbed the knife away. "Someday I won't stop you," she said. "Laguna, set an extra place for supper."

"I was all set to kill myself, truly."

"Enough dramatics."

"What is on the menu for the evening?"

"The usual gruel."

"Laguna, go check and see if there's anything by chance in my carriage outside."

There was always a feast waiting in the carriage.

And after the food and the stories would come the departure, and always, before the departure, would come the request. "We would be partners," Zack would say. "In Coral. My name before yours on the sign, of course, but equal partners in all things."

"No."

"Alright. Your name before mine. You are the greatest sword maker, you deserve to come first."

"Have a good trip back."

"Why won't you?"

"Because, my friend Zack, you are very famous and very rich, and so you should be, because you make wonderful weapons. But you must also make then for any fool who happens along. I'm poor, and no one knows me in all the world except you and Laguna, but I do not have to suffer fools."

"You are an artist," Zack said.

"No. Not yet. A craftsman only, but I dream to be an artist. I pray that someday, if I work with enough care, if I am very very lucky, I will make a weapon that is a work of art. Call me an artist then, and I will answer."

Zack entered his carriage. Raine approached the window, Whispered: "I remind you only of this: when you get this jewelled initialled sword, claim it as your own. Tell no one of my involvement."

"Your secret is safe with me."

Embraces and waves. The carriage would leave. And that was the way of life before the ladies-sword.

Laguna remembered exactly the moment it began. He was making lunch for them-his wife always, from the time they were married, let him do the cooking-when a heavy knocking came on the hut door. "Inside there," a voice boomed. "Be quick about it."

Raine opened the door. "Your servant," she said.

"You are a sword maker," came the booming voice. "Of distinction. I have heard that this is true."

"If only it were," Raine replied. "But I have no great skills. Mostly I do repair work. Perhaps if you had a dagger blade that was dulling, I might be able to please you. But anything more is beyond me.

Laguna crept up behind his wife and looked over her shoulder. The booming voice belonged to a powerful figure with dark hair sat upon an elegant bright bay horse. A noble clearly, but Laguna could not tell the country.

"I desire to have made for me the greatest sword since Lionheart."

"I hope your wishes are granted," Raine said. "And now, if you please, our lunch is almost ready and-"

"I did not give you permission to move. You stay right exactly where you are or risk my wrath, which, I must tell you in advance, is considerable. My temper is murderous. Now, what were you saying about your lunch?"

"I was saying that is will be hours before it is ready; I have nothing to do and would not dream of budging."

"There are rumours," The noble said, "that deep in the hills behind Centra lives a genius. The greatest sword maker in all the world."

"He visits here sometimes-that must be your mistake. But his name is Zack and he lives in Coral."

"I will pay five hundred pieces of gold for my desires," said the noble.

"That is more money then all the men in all this village will earn in all their lives," said Raine. "Truly, I would love to accept your offer. But I am not the person you seek."

"These rumours lead me to believe that Raine Loire would solve my problem."

"What is your problem?"

"I am a great swordsman. But I cannot find a weapon to match my peculiarities, and therefore I am deprived of reaching my highest skills. If I had a weapon to match my peculiarities, there would be no one in all the world to equal me."

"What are these peculiarities you speak of?"

The noble took off a glove and pulled back the hood on their cloak.

Raine began to grow excited.

There sat a fine lady.

"You see?" The noblewoman began.

"Of course," Raine interrupted, "the balance of the sword is wrong for you because every balance has been conceived of for men. The grip of every handle is too large for you, because it has been built for men. For an ordinary swordsman it would not matter, but a great swordsman, a master, would have eventual discomfort. And the greatest swordsman in the world must always be at ease. The grip of his weapon must be as natural as the blink of his eye, and cause him no more thought."

"Clearly, you understand the difficulties-" The noblewoman began again.

But Raine had traveled where other's words could never reach her. Laguna had never seen his wife so frenzied. "The measurements … of course … each finger and the circumference of the wrist, and the distance from the fifth nail to the index pad … so many measurements … and your preferences … Do you prefer to slash or cut? If you slash, do you prefer the right-to-left movement or perhaps the parallel? … When you cut, do you enjoy an upward thrust, and how must from the wrist? … and do you wish your point coated so as to enter more easily or do you enjoy seeing the opponent's wince? … So much to be done, so much to be done …" and on and on she went until the noblewoman dismounted and had to almost take her by the shoulders to quiet her.

"You are the person of the rumours."

Raine nodded.

"And you will make me the greatest sword since Lionheart."

"I will beat my body into ruins for you. Perhaps I will fail. But no one will try harder."

"And payment?"

"When you get the sword, then payment. Now let me get to work measuring. Laguna-my instruments."

Laguna scurried into the darkest corner of the hut.

"I insist on leaving something on account."

"It is not necessary; I may fail."

"I insist."

"All right. One gold piece. Leave that. But do not bother me with money when there is work that needs beginning."

The noblewoman took out one piece of gold.

Raine put it in a drawer and left it, without even a glance. "Fell your fingers now," She commanded. "Rub your hands hard, shake your fingers-you will be excited when you duel and this handle must match your hand in that excitement; if I measure when you were relaxed, there would be a difference, as much as a thousandth of an inch and that would rob us of perfection. And that is what I seek. Perfection. I will not rest for less."

The noblewoman had to smile. "And how long will it take to reach it?"

"Come back in a year," Raine said, and with that she set to work.

Such a year.

Raine slept only when she dropped from exhaustion. She ate only when Laguna would force her to. She studied, fretted, complained. She never should have taken the job; it was impossible. The next day she would be flying: she never should have taken the job; it was too simple to be worth her labours. Joy to despair, joy to despair, day-to-day, hour-to-hour. Sometimes Laguna would wake to find her weeping:

"What is it, my love?"

"It is that I cannot do it. I cannot make the sword. I cannot make my hands obey me. I would kill myself except what would you do then?"

"Go to sleep, love."

"No, I don't need sleep. Failures don't need sleep. Anyway, I slept yesterday."

"Please, love, a little nap."

"All right; a few minutes; to keep you from nagging."

Some nights Laguna would awake to see her dancing.

"What is it, love."

"It is that I have found my mistakes, corrected my misjudgements."

"Then it will be done soon, love?"

"It will be done tomorrow and it will be a miracle."

"You are wonderful, love."

"I'm more wonderful then wonderful, how dare you insult me."

But the next night, more tears.

"What is it now, love?"

"The sword, the sword, I cannot make the sword."

"But last night, love, you said you found your mistakes."

"I was mistaken; tonight I found new ones, worse ones. I am the most wretched of creatures. Say you wouldn't mind it is I killed myself so I could end this existence."

"But I would mind, love. I love you and I would die if you stopped breathing."

"You don't really love me; you're only speaking pity."

"Who could pity the greatest sword maker in the history of the world?"

"Thank you, Laguna."

"You're welcome, love."

"I love you back, Laguna."

"Sleep, love."

"Yes. Sleep."

A whole year of that. A year of the handle being right, but the balance being wrong, of the balance being right, but the cutting edge too dull, of cutting edge sharpened, but that threw the balance off again, of the balance returning, but now the point was fat, of the point regaining sharpness, only now the entire blade was too short and it all had to go, all had to be thrown out, all had to be done again. Again. Again. Raine's health began to leave her. She was fevered always now, but she forced her frail shell on, because this had to be the finest since Lionheart. Raine was battling legend, and it was destroying her.

Such a year.

One night Laguna woke to find his beloved seated. Staring. Calm. Laguna followed the stare.

The ladies-sword was done.

Even in the hut's darkness, it glistened.

"At last," Raine whispered. She could not take her eyes from the glory of the sword. "After a lifetime. Laguna. Laguna. I am an artist."

The noblewoman did not agree. When she returned to purchase the sword, she merely looked at it a moment. "Not worth waiting for," she said.

Laguna stood in the corner of the hut, watching, holding his breath.

"You are disappointed?" Raine could scarcely say the words.

"I'm not saying it is trash, you understand," the noblewoman went on. "But it's certainly not worth five hundred pieces of gold. I'll give you ten; it's probably worth that."

"Wrong!" Rain cried. "It is not worth ten. It is not worth even one. Here." And she threw open the drawer where the one gold piece had sat untouched for the year. "The gold is yours. All of it. You have lost nothing." She took back the sword and turned away.

"I'll take the sword," the noblewoman said. "I didn't say I wouldn't take it. I only said I would pay what it was worth."

Raine whirled back, eyes bright. "You quibbled. You haggled. Art was involved and you saw only money. Beauty was here for the taking and you saw only your fat purse. You have lost nothing; there is no more reason for your remaining here. Please go."

"The sword," The noble said.

"The sword belongs to my husband," Raine said. "I give it to him now. It is forever his. Good-bye."

"You're a peasant and a fool and I want my sword."

"You're an enemy of art and I pity your ignorance." Raine said.

They were the last words she ever spoke.

The noblewoman killed her then, with no warning; a flash of the noblewoman's sword and Raine's heart was torn to pieces.

Laguna screamed. He could not believe it; it had not happened. He screamed again. His wife was fine; soon they would have tea. He could not stop screaming.

The village heard. Twenty men were at the door. The noblewoman pushed her way through them. "That woman attacked me. See? She holds a sword. She attacked me and I defended myself. Now move from my way."

It was lies, of course, and everyone knew it. But she was a noble so what was there to do? They parted, and the noblewoman mounted her horse.

"Coward!"

The noblewoman whirled.

"Bitch!"

Again the crowed parted.

Laguna stood there, holding the ladies-sword, repeating his words: "Coward. Bitch. Killer."

"Someone tend to the babe before he oversteps himself," the noble said to the crowd.

Laguna ran forward then, standing in front of the noblewoman's horse, blocking the noblewoman's path. He raised the ladies-sword with both his hands and cried, "I, Laguna Loire, do challenge you, coward, bitch, killer, whore, fool, to battle."

"Get him out of my way. Move the child."

"The child is twenty and he stays," Laguna said.

"Enough of your family is dead for one day; be content," said the noblewoman.

"When you beg me for your breath, then I shall be contented. Now dismount!"

The noblewoman dismounted.

"Draw your sword."

The noblewoman unsheathed his killing weapon.

"I dedicate your death to my wife," Laguna said. "Begin."

They began.

It was no match, of course. Laguna was disarmed in less then a minute. But for the first fifteen seconds, strange thoughts crossed his mind. For even at the age of twenty, Laguna's genius was there.

Disarmed, Laguna stood very straight. He said not a word, begged for nothing.

"I'm not going to kill you," the noblewoman said. "Because you have talent and you're brave. But you are also lacking in manners, and that's going to get you in trouble if you're not careful. So I shall help you as you go through life, by leaving you with a reminder that bad manners are to be avoided." And with that her blade flashed twice in the afternoon sun.

And Laguna's face began to bleed. Two rivers of blood poured from his forehead to his chin, one crossing each cheek. Everyone watching knew it then: the boy was scarred for life.

Laguna would not fall. The world went white behind his eyes but he would not go to ground. The blood continued to pour. The noblewoman replaced her sword, remounted, and rode on.

It was only then that Laguna allowed the darkness to claim him.

He awake to Zack's face.

"I was beaten," Laguna whispered. "I failed her."

Zack could only say, "Sleep."

Laguna slept. The bleeding stopped after a day and the pain stopped after a week. They buried Raine, and for the first and last time Laguna left Mideel. His face bandaged, he rode in Zack's carriage to Coral, where he lived in Zack's house, obeyed Zack's commands. After a month, the bandages were removed, but the scars were still deep red. Eventually they softened some, but they always remained the chief features of Laguna's face: The giant parallel scars running one on each side, from temple to chin. For the next 6 months, Zack cared for him.

Then one morning, Zack rolled over and Laguna was gone. In his place were three words: "I must learn" on a note pinned to his pillow.

Learn? Learn what? What existed beyond Coral that the young man had to commit to memory? Zack groaned and covered his eyes with his arm. It was beyond him. There were no understanding people anymore. Everything was changing too fast and the young were different. Beyond him, beyond him, life was beyond him. He was an old man who made swords. That much he knew.

So he made more swords and he grew older as the years went by. As his age grew so did his fame. From all across the world they came, begging him for weapons, so he doubled his prices because he didn't want to work too hard anymore, he was getting far too old for it, but when he doubled his prices, when the news spread from duke to prince to king, they only wanted him more desperately. Now the wait was two years for a sword and the line up of royalty was unending and Zack was growing tired, so he doubled his prices again, and when that didn't stop them, he decided to triple his already doubled and redoubled prices and besides that, all work had to be paid for in jewels in advance and the wait was up to three years, but nothing would stop them. They had to have swords by Zack or nothing, and even though the work on the finest was nowhere what is once was the silly rich men didn't notice. All they wanted was his weapons and they fell over each other with jewels for him.

Zack grew very rich.

"I'm sorry," He said to the young Centrian who entered his shop on morning. "The wait is up to four years and even I am embarrassed to mention the price. Have your weapon made by another."

"I have my weapon," the Centrian said.

And threw the Ladies-sword across Zack's workbench.

Zack looked once at the sword and threw himself into Laguna's arms.

"Never leave again," Zack said. "I eat too much when I am lonely."

"I can not stay," Laguna told him. "I'm only here to ask you one question. As you know, I have spent the last ten years learning. Now I have come for you to tell me if I'm ready."

"Ready? For what? What in the world have you been learning?"

"The sword."

"Madness," said Zack. "You have spent ten entire years just learning to fence?"

"No, not just learning to fence," Laguna answered. "I did many other things as well."

"Tell me."

"Well," Laguna began," ten years is what? About thirty-six hundred days. And that's about-I figured this out once, so I remember pretty well-about eighty-six thousand hours. Well, I always made it a point to get four hours sleep per night. That's fourteen thousand hours right there, leaving me perhaps seventy-two thousand hours to account for."

"You slept. I'm with you. What else?"

"Well I squeezed rocks."

"I'm sorry, my hearing sometimes fails me; it sounded like you said you squeezed rocks."

"To make my wrists strong. So I could control the sword. Rocks like apples. That size. I would squeeze them in each hand for perhaps two hours a day. And I would spend another two hours a day in skipping and dodging and moving quickly, so that my feet would be able to get me into position to deliver properly the thrust of the sword. That's another fourteen thousand hours. I'm down to fifty-eight thousand now. Well, I always sprinted two hours each day as fast as I could, so my legs, as well as being quick, would be strong. And that gets me down to about fifty thousand hours."

Zack examined the young man before him. Blade thin, nearly six feet in height, straight as a sapling, bright eyed, taut: even motionless he seemed whippet quick. "And these last fifty thousand hours? These have been spent studying the sword?"

Laguna nodded.

"Where?"

"Where ever I could find a master. Dali, Alexandria, Lindblum."

"I could have taught you here."

"True. But you care for me. You would not have been ruthless. You would have said, 'Excellent parry, Laguna, now that's enough for one day; let's have supper.'"

"That does sound like me," Zack admitted. "But why was it so important? Why was it worth so much of your life?"

"Because I could not fail her again."

"Fail who?"

"My wife. I have spent all these years preparing to find the noblewoman and kill her in a duel. But she is a master, Zack. She said as much and I saw the way her sword flew at Raine. I must not lose that duel when I find her, so now I have come to you. You know swords and swordsmen. You must not lie. Am I ready? If you say I am, I will seek her through the world. If you say no, I will spend another ten years and another ten after that, if that is needed."

So they went to Zack's courtyard. It was late morning. Hot. Zack put his body in a chair and the chair in the shade. Laguna stood waiting in the sunshine. "We need not test desire and we know you have sufficient motives to deliver the death blow," Zack said. "Therefore we need only to probe your knowledge and speed and stamina. We need no enemy for this. The enemy is always in the mind. Visualize her."

Laguna drew his sword.

"The lady taunts you," Zack called. "Do what you can."

Laguna began to leap around the courtyard, the great blade flashing.

"She uses the Agrippa defence," Zack shouted.

Immediately, Laguna shifted position, increased the speed of his sword.

"Now she surprises you with Bonetti's attack."

But Laguna was not surprised for long. Again his feet shifted; he moved his body a different was. Perspiration was pouring down his thin frame now and the great blade was blinding. Zack continued to shout. Laguna continues to shift. The blade never stopped.

At three in the afternoon, Zack said, "Enough. I am exhausted from watching you."

Laguna sheathed the ladies-sword and waited.

"You wish to know if I feel you are ready to duel to the death a woman ruthless enough to kill your wife, rich enough to buy protection, older and more experienced, an acknowledged master."

Laguna nodded.

"I'll tell you the truth, and it's up to you to live with it. First, there has never been a master as young as you. Thirty-five years at least before that rank has yet been reached, and you are barely thirty. Well, the truth is you are an impetuous boy driven by madness and you are not now and you will never be a master."

"Thank you for you honesty," Laguna said. "I must tell you I had hoped for better news. I find it very hard to speak just now, so if you'll please excuse me, I'll be on my way-"

"I had not finished," Zack said.

What else is there to say?"

"I loved you wife very dearly, that you know, but this you did not know: When we were very young, not yet twelve, we saw, with our own eyes, an exhibition by the Deguerreo Wizard, Zidane."

"I know of no wizards."

"It is the rank beyond master in swordsmanship," Zack said. "Zidane was the last man so designated. He died at sea. There have been no wizards since. And you would never in this world have beaten him. But I tell you this; He would never in this world have beaten you."

Laguna stood silent for a long time. "I am ready then."

"I would not enjoy being that lady," was all Zack replied.

The next morning, Laguna began the track down. He had it all carefully prepared in his mind. He would find the noblewoman. He would go up to her. He would say simply, "Hello, My name is Laguna Loire, you killed my wife, prepare to die," and then, oh then, the duel.

It was a lovely plan really. Simple, direct. No frills. In the beginning, Laguna had all kinds of wild vengeance notions, but gradually, simplicity had seemed the better way. Originally, he had all kinds of little plays worked out in his mind-the enemy would weep and beg, the enemy would cringe and cry, the enemy would bribe and slobber and act in every way a child. But eventually, these too gave way in his mind to simplicity: the enemy would simply say, "Oh, yes, I remember killing her; I'll be only delighted to kill you too."

Laguna had only one problem: He could not find the enemy.

It never occurred to him there would be the least difficulty. After all, how many women were sword masters? Surely, it would be the talk of whatever his vicinity happened to be. A few questions: "Pardon, I'm not crazy, but have you seen any noblewoman sword masters lately?" And surely sooner or later, there would be an answering "yes."

But it didn't come sooner.

And later wasn't the kind of thing you wanted to hold your breath for either.

The first month wasn't all that discouraging. Laguna criss-crossed Centra and Rozarria. The second month he moved to Dalmasca and spent the rest of the year there. The year following that was his Archadian year, and then came Nebradia and the whole of Bhujerba. It was only after five solid years of failure that he began to worry. By then he had seen all of the Destiny Islands and most of Paramina and he had visited Garden and Galbadia, and into Edge and down step by step around the entire Northern Sea.

By then he knew what had happened: ten years learning was ten years too long; too much had been allowed to happen. The noblewoman was probably crusading in Agrabah. Or getting rich in Esthar. Or a hermit in Neverland. Or … or …

Dead?

Laguna, at the age of thirty-five, began having a few extra glasses of wine at night, to help him get to sleep. At thirty-six, he was having a few extra glasses to help him digest his lunch. At thirty-seven, the wine was essential to wake him in the morning. His world was collapsing around him. Hit only was he living in daily failure; something almost as dreadful was beginning to happen.

Fencing was beginning to bore him.

He was simply too good. He would make his living during his travels by finding the local champion wherever he happened to be, and they would duel, and Laguna would disarm him and accept whatever they happened to bet. And with his winnings he would pay for his food and his lodging and his wine.

But the local champions were nothing. Even in the big cities, the local experts were nothing. Even in the capital cities, the local masters were nothing. There was no competition, nothing to help him keep an edge. His life began to seem pointless, his quest pointless, everything, everything, without reason.

At thirty-eight he gave up the ghost. He stopped his search, forgot to eat, and slept only on occasion. He had his wine for company and that was enough.

He was a shell. The greatest fencing machine since the Deguerreo Wizard was barely even practicing the sword.

He was in that condition when the Trabian found him.

At first the little man only supplied him with stronger wine. But then, through a combination of praise and nudging, the Trabian began to get him off the bottle. Because the Trabian had a dream: with his guile plus the Shumi's strength plus the Centrian's sword, they might become the most effective criminal organization in the civilized world.

Which is precisely what they became.

In dark places, their names whipped sharper then fear: everyone had needs that were hard to fulfill. The Trabian Crowd became more and more famous and more and more rich. Nothing was beyond or beneath them. Laguna's blade was flashing again more then ever like lightning. The Shumi's strength grew more prodigious with the months.

But the Trabian was the leader. There was never doubt. Without him, Laguna knew where he would be: on his back begging wine in some alley entrance. The Trabian's word was not just law it was gospel.

So when he said, "Kill the man in black," All of their possibilities ceased to exist. The man in black had to die. …

----o----o----o----o----o----

A/N: Ok, that took me a long time to write, and a long time for the update. Sorry about that. Please don't kill me. I'll get you more soon.

I'm kind of running out of place names. The world is bigger then I thought and well if it gets worse I may start to use country names from real life. –shudders- We don't need that now do we. Real life is scary.

Good reviews are welcome and flames will be used later in the fire swamp to give special effects.

Until next time … let it hang long and loose.


	14. Chapter 13

Laguna paced the cliff edge, fingers snapping. Fifty feet below him now, the man in black still climbed. Laguna's impatience was beginning to bubble beyond control. He stared down at the slow progress. Find a crevice, jam in the hand, find another crevice, jam in the other hand; forty-eight feet to go. Laguna slapped his sword handle, and his finger snapping began to go faster. He examined the hooded climber, half hoping he would be a she, but no; this one had all the proper anatomy to be a male.

Forty-seven feet to go now.

Now forty-six.

"Hello there," Laguna hollered when he could wait no more.

The man in black glanced up and grunted.

"I've been watching you."

The man in black nodded.

"Slow going," Laguna said.

"Look I don't mean to be rude," the man in black said finally, "but I'm rather busy right now, so try not to distract me."

"I'm sorry," Laguna said.

The man in black grunted again.

"I don't suppose you could speed things up," Laguna said.

"If you want to speed things up so much," the man in black said, clearly quite angry now, "you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find some other helpful thing to do."

"I could do that," Laguna agreed. "But I don't think you would accept my help, since I'm only waiting up here so that I can kill you."

"That does put a damper on our relationship," the man in black said then. "I'm afraid you'll just have to wait."

Forty-three feet left.

Forty-one.

"I could give you my word as a Centrian," Laguna said.

"No good," the man in black replied. "I've known too many Centrians."

"I'm going crazy up here," Laguna said.

"Anytime you want to change places, I'd be too happy to accept."

Thirty-nine feet.

And resting.

The man in black just hung in space, feet dangling, the entire weight of his body supported by the strength of his hand jammed into the crevice.

"Come along now," Laguna pleaded.

"It's been a bit of a climb," the man in black explained, "and I'm tired. I'll be fine in quarter-hour or so."

Another quarter-hour! Inconceivable. "Look, we've got a piece of extra rope up here we didn't need when we made our original climb, I'll just drop it down to you and you grab hold and I'll pull and-"

"No good," the man in black repeated. "You might pull, but then again, you also just might let go, which, since you're in a hurry to kill me, would certainly do the job quickly."

"But you wouldn't have ever known I was going to kill you if I hadn't been the one to tell you. Doesn't that let you know I can be trusted?"

"Frankly, and I hope you won't be insulted, no."

"There's no way you'll trust me?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

Suddenly Laguna raised his right hand high-"I swear on the soul of Raine Loire you will reach the top alive!"

The man in black was silent for a long time. Then he looked up. "I do not know this Raine of yours."

"She was my wife."

"Throw me the rope."

Laguna quickly tied it around a rock, dropped it over the side. The man in black grabbed hold, hung suspended alone in space, Laguna pulled. In a moment, the man in black was beside him.

"Thank you," The man in black said, and sank down in the rock.

Laguna sat along side him. "We'll wait until you're ready," he said.

The man in black breathed deeply. "Again, thank you."

"Why have you followed us?

"You carry baggage of much value."

"We have no intention of selling," Laguna said.

"That is your business."

"And yours?"

The man in black made no reply.

Laguna stood and walked away, surveying the terrain over which they would battle. It was a splendid plateau, really, filled with trees for dodging around and roots for tripping over and small rocks for losing your balance and boulders for leaping off if you could climb them fast enough, and bathing everything, the entire spot, moonlight. One could not ask for a more suitable testing ground for a duel, Laguna decided. It had everything, including the marvellous cliffs at one end, beyond that was the wonderful thousand-foot drop, always something to bear in mind when one was planning tactics. It was perfect. The place was perfect.

Provided the man in black could fence.

Really fence.

Laguna did then what he always did before a duel: he took the great sword from it's scabbard and touched the side of the black to his face two times, once alone one scar, once along the other.

Then he examined the man in black. A fine sailor, yes; a mighty climber, no question; courageous, without a doubt.

But could he fence?

Really fence?

'Please,' Laguna thought. 'It has been so long since I have been tested, let this man test me. Let him be a glorious swordsman. Let him be quick and fast, smart and strong. Give him a matchless mind for tactics, a background the equal of mine. Please, please, it's been so long: let-him-be-a-master!'

"I have my breath back now," the man in black said from the rock. "Thank you for allowing me my rest."

"We'd best get on with it then," Laguna replied.

The man in black stood.

"You seem a decent fellow," Laguna said. "I hate to kill you."

"You seem a decent fellow," answered the man in black. "I hate to die."

"But one of us must," Laguna said. "Begin."

And so saying he took the ladies-sword.

And put it in his left hand.

He had begun all his duels left-handed lately. It was good practice for him, and although he was the only living wizard in the world with his regular hand, the right, still, he was more them worthy with his left. Perhaps thirty men alive were his equal when he used his left. Perhaps as many as fifty; perhaps as few as ten.

The man in black was also left-handed and that warmed Laguna; it made things fairer. His weakness against the other man's strength, all the better.

They touched swords, and the man in black immediately began the Agrippa defence, which Laguna felt was sound, considering the rocky terrain, for the Agrippa kelp the feet stationary at first, and made the chances of slipping minimal. Naturally, he countered with Capo Ferro which surprised the man in black, but he defended well, quickly shifting out of Agrippa and taking the attack himself, using the principals of Thibault.

Laguna had to smile. No one had taken the attack against him in so long and it was thrilling! He let the man in black advance; let him build up courage, retreating gracefully between some trees, letting his Bonetti defence keep him safe from harm.

Then his legs flicked and he was behind the nearest tree, and the man in black had not expected it and was slow reacting. Laguna flashed immediately out from behind the tree, attacking himself now, and the man in black retreated, stumbled, got his balance and continued moving away.

Laguna was impressed with the quickness of the balance return. Most men the size of the man in black would have gone down or, at least, fallen to one hand. The man in black did neither; he simply quick-stepped, wrenching his body straight and continued fighting.

They were moving parallel to the cliffs now, and the trees were behind them, mostly. The man in black was slowly being forced toward a group of large boulders, for Laguna was anxious to see how well he moved when quarters were close, when you could not thrust or parry with total freedom. He continued to force, and then the boulders were surrounding them. Laguna suddenly threw his body against a nearby rock, rebounded off it with stunning force, lunging with incredible speed.

First blood was his.

He had pinked the man in black, grazed him only, along the left wrist, a scratch was all. But it was bleeding.

Immediately the man in black hurried his retreat, getting his position away from the boulders, getting out into the open of the plateau. Laguna followed, not bothering to try to check the other man's flight; there would always be time for that later.

The man in black launched his greatest assault. It came with no warning and the speed and strength of it was terrifying. His blade flashed in the light again and again, and at first, Laguna was only too delighted to retreat. He was not entirely familiar with the style of the attack; it was mostly McBone, but there were snatches of Capo Ferro thrown in, and he continued moving backward while he concentrated on the enemy, figuring the best way to stop the assault.

The man in black kept advancing, and Laguna was aware that behind him now he was coming closer and closer to the edge of the cliffs, but that could not have concerned him less. The important thing was to outthink the enemy, find his weakness, and let him have his moment of exultation.

Suddenly, as the cliffs came ever nearer, Laguna realized the fault in the attack that was flashing at him; a simple Thibault manoeuvre would destroy it entirely, but he didn't want to give it away too soon. Let the other man have the triumph a moment longer; life allowed so few.

The cliffs were very close behind him now.

Laguna countered with the Thibault.

And the man in black blocked it.

He blocked it!

Laguna repeated the Thibault move and again it didn't work. He switched to Capo Ferro, he tried Benetti, he went to Fabris; in desperation he began a move used only twice, by Sainct.

Nothing worked!

The man in black kept attacking.

And the cliffs were almost there.

Laguna never panicked-never came close. But he decided some things very quickly, because there was no time for long consultations, and what he decided was that although the man in black was slow in reacting to moves behind trees, and not much good at all among the boulders, when movement was restricted, yet out in the open, where there was space, he was a terror. A left-handed black-masked terror. "You are most excellent," he said. His rear foot was at the cliff edge. He could retreat no more.

"Thank you," the man in black replied. "I have worked very hard to become so."

"You are better then I am," Laguna admitted.

"So it seems. But if that is true, then why are you smiling?"

"Because," Laguna answered, "I know something you don't know."

"And what is that?" asked the man in black.

"I'm not left-handed," Laguna replied, and with those words, he all but threw the ladies-sword into his right hand, and the tide of battle turned.

The man in black retreated before the slashing of the great sword. He tried to side step, tried to parry, tried to somehow escape the doom that was inevitable. But there was no way. He could not block fifty thrusts; the fifty-first flicked through, and now his left arm was bleeding. He could thwart thirty ripostes, but not the thirty-first, and now his shoulder bled.

The wounds were not yet grave, but they kept on coming as they dodged across the stones, and then the man in black found himself amidst the trees and that was bad for him. Se he all but fled before Laguna's onslaught, and then he was in the open again, but Laguna kept coming, nothing could stop him, and then the man in black was back among the boulders, and that was even worse for him then the trees and he shouted out in frustration and practically ran to where there was open space again.

But the was no dealing with the wizard, and slowly, again, the deadly cliffs became a factor in the fight, only now it was the man in black who was being forced to doom. He was brave, and he was strong, and the cuts did not make him beg for mercy, and he showed no fear behind his black mask. "You are amazing," he cried, as Laguna increased the already blinding speed of the blade.

"Thank you. It has not come without effort."

The death moment was at hand now. Again and again Laguna thrust forward, and again and again the man in black managed to ward off the attacks, but each time it was harder, and the strength in Laguna's wrists was endless and he only thrust the more fiercely and soon the man in black grew weak. "You cannot tell it," he said then, "because I wear a cape and mask. But I am smiling now."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not left-handed either," said the man in black.

And he too switched hands, and now the battle was finally joined.

And Laguna began to retreat.

"Who are you?" he screamed.

"No one of import. Another lover of the blade."

"I must know!"

"Get used to disappointment."

They flashed along the open plateau now, and the blades were both invisible, but oh, the earth trembled, and oh, the skies shook, and Laguna was losing. He tried to make for the trees, but the man in black would have none of it. He tried retreating to the boulders, but that was denied him too.

And in the open, unthinkable as it was, the man in black was superior. Not much. But in a multitude of tiny ways, he was of a slightly higher quality, a hair quicker, a fraction stronger, a speck faster, not really much at all.

But it was enough.

The met in center plateau for the final assault. Neither man conceded anything. The sound of metal clashing against metal rose. A final burst of energy flew through Laguna's veins and he made every attempt, tried every trick, used every hours of every day of his years of experience. But he was blacked. By the man in black. He was shackled. By the man in black. He was baffled, thwarted, muzzled.

Beaten.

By the man in black.

A final flick and the great ladies-sword went flying from his hand. Laguna stood there, helpless. Then he dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. "Do it quickly," he said.

"May my hands fall from my wrists before I kill an artist like yourself," said the man in black. "I would as soon destroy Maechen," the man in black reached down with his hand and drew the man upward. The man in black looked long to the eyes of the Centrian before pressing their lips together.

The fabric between them was soft and thin. Laguna could almost imagine what the feel of those bare lips on his own would feel like. His leg spasmed and he winced in pain, but he didn't dare break that kiss.

"However,"-and here he clubbed Laguna's head with the butt of his sword-"Since I can't have you following me either, please understand that I hold you in the highest respect." He struck one more time and the Centrian fell unconscious. The man in black quickly tired Laguna's hands around a tree and left him there for the moment, sleeping and helpless.

Then he sheathed his sword, picked up the Trabian's trail, and raced off into the night.

----o----o----o----o----o----

Ok so I just couldn't help but have that kiss in there. The kiss of the loser. It just fit so well. All that fighting and nothing sexual batted between them? I'll be dead before something I write happens like that.

And now we move to the next area. This next one may be short. But the one after that will be long. I promise.


	15. Chapter 14

"He has beaten Laguna!" the Shumi said, not quite sure he wanted to believe it, but positive that the news was sad; he liked Laguna. Laguna was the only one who wouldn't laugh when Ward asked him to play rhymes.

They were hurrying along a mountainous path on the way to the Galbadian frontier. The path was narrow and strewn with rocks like cannonballs, so the Trabian had a terrible time keeping up. Ward carried Squall lightly on his shoulders; he was still tied hand and foot.

"I didn't hear you, say it again." the Trabian called out, so Ward waited for the man to catch up.

"See?" Ward pointed then. Far down, at the very bottom of the mountain path, the man in black could be seen running. "Laguna is beaten."

"Inconceivable!" exploded the Trabian.

Ward never dared disagree with the man. "I'm so stupid," Ward nodded. "Laguna has not lost to the man in black, he has defeated him. And to prove it he has put on all the man in black's clothes and masks and hoods and boots and gained eighty pounds."

The Trabian squinted down toward the running figure. "Fool," he hurled at the Shumi. "After all these years can't you tell Laguna when you see him? That isn't Laguna."

"I'll never learn," the Shumi agreed. "If there's ever a question about anything, you can always count on me to get it wrong."

"Laguna must have slipped of been tricked or otherwise unfairly beaten. That's the only conceivable explanation."

Conceivable believable, the giant thought. Only he didn't dare say it out loud. Not to the Trabian. He might have whispered it to Laguna late at night, but that was before Laguna had died. He also might have whispered heavable thieveable waeveable but that was as far as he got before the Trabian started talking again, and that always meant he had to pay strict attention. Nothing angered the man as quickly as catching Ward thinking. Since he barely imagined someone like Ward capable of thought, he never asked what was on his mind, because he couldn't have cared less. If he found out Ward was making rhymes, he would have laughed and then found new ways to make Ward suffer.

"Untie his feet," the Trabian commanded.

Ward put the prince down and ripped the ropes apart that bound his legs. Then he rubbed his ankles so he could walk.

The Trabian grabbed him immediately and yanked him away. "Catch up with us quickly," the Trabian said.

"Instructions?" Ward called out, almost panicked. He hated being left on his own like this.

"Finish him, finish him," the Trabian was getting pissed off. "Succeed, since Laguna failed us."

"But I can't fence, I don't know how to fence-"

"Your way." The Trabian could barely control himself now.

"Oh yes, good, my way, thank you, Kiros," Ward said to the man. Then summoning all his courage: "I need a hint."

"You're always saying how you understand force, how force belongs to you, use it, I don't care how. Wait for him behind there"- he pointed to a sharp bend in the mountain path-"and crush his head like an eggshell." He pointed to the cannon-sized rocks.

"I could do that, yes," Ward nodded. He was marvellous at throwing heavy things. "It just seems not very sportsmanlike, doesn't it?"

The Trabian lost control. It was terrifying when he did it. With most people, the scream and holler and jump around. With Kiros, it was different: he got very very quiet, and his voice sounded like it came from a dead throat. And his eyes turned to fire. "I tell you this and I tell it once: stop the man in black. Stop him for good and all. If you fail, there will be no excuses; I will find another giant."

"Please don't desert me," Ward said.

"Then do as you are told." He grabbed hold of Squall again and hobbled up the mountain path and out of sight.

Ward glanced down toward the figure racing up the path toward him, still a good distance away, time enough to practice. Ward picked up a rock the size of a cannonball and aimed at a crack in the mountain thirty yards away.

Swoosh.

Dead center.

He picked up a bigger rock and threw it at a shadow line twice as distant.

Not quite swoosh.

Two inched to the right.

Ward was reasonably satisfied; two inched off would still crush a head if you aimed for the center. He groped around, found a perfect rock for throwing; it just fit his hand, and then he moved to the sharp turn in the path, backed off into the deepest shadow. Unseen, Silent, he waited patiently with his killing rock, counting the seconds until the man in black would die …


	16. Chapter 15

Ok so this is how it goes. Just to keep me from going insane I'm going to leave the next chapter out for a while. I'll tell you when it is posted so you can go back and read it. It's not really important to the story so you really don't need to read it if you don't want to.

Cold Drake Queen


	17. Chapter 16

But not by ambush. Not the coward's way. Nothing unsportsmanlike. His parents had always taught him to go by the rules. Ward stood in shadow, the giant rock tight in his great hand. He could hear the footsteps of the man in black coming nearer. Nearer.

Ward leapt from his hiding place and threw the rock with incredible power and perfect accuracy. It smashed into a boulder a foot away from the face of the man in black. "I did that on purpose," Ward said then, picking up another rock, holding it ready. "I didn't have to miss."

"I believe you," the man in black said.

They stood facing each other on the narrow mountain path.

"Now what happens?" asked the man in black.

"We face each other as Hyne intended," Ward said. "No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone."

"You mean you'll put down your rock and I'll put down my sword and we'll try to kill each other like civilized people, is that it?"

"If you would rather, I can kill you now," Ward said gently, and he raised the rock to throw. "I'm giving you a chance."

"So you are and I accept it," said the man in black, and he began to take off his sword and scabbard. "Although, frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favour at hand fighting."

"I tell you what I tell everybody," Ward explained. "I cannot help being the biggest and strongest; it's not my fault."

"I'm not blaming you," said the man in black.

"Let's get to it then," Ward said, and he dropped his rock and got into a fighting position, watching as the man in black slowly moved toward him. For a moment, Ward felt almost wistful. This was clearly a good fellow, even if he had killed Laguna. He didn't complain or try and beg or bribe. He just accepted his fate. No complaining, nothing like that, obviously a criminal of character. 'Was he even a criminal, though?' Ward wondered. 'Surely the mask would indicate that. Or was it worse then that: was he disfigured? His face burned away by acid perhaps? Or perhaps born ugly?'

"Why do you wear a mask and hood?" Ward asked.

"I think everybody will in the near future," was the man in black's reply. "They're terribly comfortable."

They faced each other on the mountain path. There was a moment's pause. Then the engaged, Ward let the man in black fiddle around for a bit, testing the man's strength, which was considerable for someone who wasn't a giant. He let the man in black feint and dodge and let him try a hold here, a hold there. Then, when he was quite sure the man in black would not go to his maker embarrassed, Ward locked his arms tight around the man.

Ward lifted.

And Squeezed.

And Squeezed.

Then he took the remains of the man in black, snapped him one way, snapped him the other, cracked him with one hand in the neck, with the other at the spine base, locked his legs up, rolling his limp arms around them, and tossed the entire bundle of what had once been human into a nearby crevice.

That was the theory, anyway.

In fact, what happened was this:

Ward lifted.

And Squeezed.

And the man in black slipped free.

Shit, that man in black is flexible!

'Humm,' thought Ward, 'that certainly was a surprise. I thought for sure I had him.' "You're very quick," Ward complimented.

"And a good thing too," Said the man in black.

Then they engaged again. This time Ward did not give the man in black a chance to play around. He just grabbed him, swung him around his head once, twice, smashed his skull against the nearest boulder, pounding him, pummelled him, gave him a final squeeze for good measure and tossed the remains of what once had been alive into a nearby crevice.

Those were his intentions, anyway.

In actuality, he never got even through the grabbing part with much success, because no sooner had Ward's great hand reached out then the man in black dropped and spun and twisted and was loose and free and still quite alive.

'I don't understand a thing that's happening,' Ward thought. 'Could I be losing my strength? Could there be a mountain disease that takes your strength? There was a desert disease that took my parents' strength. That must be it, I must have caught a plague, but if that is it, why isn't he weak? No, I must still be strong, it has to be something else, now what could it be?'

Suddenly he knew. He had not fought against one man in so long he had all but forgotten how. He had been fighting groups and gangs and bunches for so many years, that the idea of having but a single opponent was slow in making itself known to him, because you fought then entirely differently. When there were twelve against you, you made certain moves, tried certain holds, and acted in certain ways. When there was but one, you had to completely readjust yourself. Quickly now, Ward went back through time. How had he fought the champion of Macalania? He flashed through that fight in his mind, then reminded himself of all the other victories against other champions, the men from Besad, Bikanel, Djose and Mi'ihen. He remembered fleeing Gagazet because he had beaten their champion so quickly. So easily. 'Yes,' Ward thought. 'Of course.' And suddenly he readjusted his style to what it once had been.

But by that time the man in black had him by the throat!

The man in black was astride his back, and his arms were locked across Ward's windpipe, one in front, one behind. Ward reached back but the man in black was hard to grasp. Ward could not get his arms around to his back and dislodge the enemy. Ward ran at a boulder and, at the last moment, spun around so that the man in black received the main force of the charge. It was a terrible jolt; Ward knew it was.

But the grip on his windpipe grew even tighter.

Ward charged the boulder again, again spun, and again he knew the power of the blow the man in black had taken. But still the grip remained. Ward clawed at the man in black's arms. He pounded his giant fists against them.

By now he had no air.

Ward continued to struggle. He could feel a hollowness in his legs now; he could see the world beginning to pale. But he did not give up. He was the mighty Ward, lover of rhymes, and you did not give up, no matter what. Now the hollowness was in his arms and the world was snowing.

Ward went to his knees.

He pounded still, but feebly. He fought still, but his blows would not have harmed a child. No air. There was no more air. There was no more anything, not for Ward, not in this world. 'I am beaten. I am going to die,' he thought just before he fell onto the mountain path.

He was only half wrong.

There is an instant between unconsciousness and death, and as the giant pitched onto the rocky path, the instant happened, and just before it happened, the man in black let go. He staggered to his feet and leaned against a boulder until he could walk. Ward lay sprawled, faintly breathing. The man in black looked around for a rope to secure the giant, gave up the search almost as soon as he'd begun. The giant would simply snap them when he awoke. The man in black made his way back to where he's dropped his sword, putting it back on.

Two down and the hardest one to go …


End file.
